Becoming Freud
by Eykiel
Summary: Everyone knew Freud the Dragon Master. But nobody would have imagined that this was the path he had taken before he arrived at his final destiny. - (Completely AU, Freud)
1. Act One - The Terror

Freud hated everything.

There wasn't really a singular reason for this annoyance. It was just that _everything_ was so infuriatingly _mundane_. The bore and frustration from having to wake at the same time, and undertake the same meaningless rituals, day in and out with no respite, was too much to bear.

His days were simple enough. Too simple, in fact. He was expected to wake at the crack of dawn, regardless of rain or shine, whether he slept well or fitfully. Attendance of his peers was taken in the courtyard shortly later, after which he'd head over to the pantry to consume his morning meal of porridge and oats and weak tea. They'd then move to the classrooms to be talked at by the head tutor until lunch, which was guaranteed to be as disappointing as breakfast. Then they'd be made to go back to class again until exercise session just before dinner. After that, they'd do whatever homework was assigned to them until it was finally time to retire to bed.

That was the original plan. When he first arrived, he had always been the earliest down at the courtyard, eager to start the day. He'd attacked his meals with gusto and his lessons with even more. Sleep was more than anything a hindrance, and often he spent the nights beside a melting wick, pouring over old books.

But that was a blue moon ago. Now Freud had other ideas. He slept in when he could get away with it and when he couldn't, he would run down to the courtyard to hide up in one of the cherry blossom trees, or in the nook of one of the rocks in the rock garden. There was once he'd gone and submerged himself in the koi pond at the far edge of the monastery to avoid being caught.

He was always found. After all, the monastery was small, with only so many hiding places, and soon the monks knew where to look for him. The punishment for running was the same - the task of scrubbing whatever floors needed scrubbing, but using a painfully small brush. The humiliation of such menial work was always worth it, he felt, to see the monks exasperated and frustrated out of their minds.

'You'll understand when you're older,' they always said, with that air of finality and condescending adults reserved for children. 'You're still just a boy.'

'But there's so much out there and I'm stuck in here,' he always protested, when handed the now-familiar wooden bucket and the wooden brush with its worn bristles.

'Then you can learn about them instead.' That was the same reply he received from them, every time, used in every circumstance. What was learning if it wasn't going to be put to good use?

They were right. Freud couldn't understand them. He hated their lack of curiosity and he hated the way they always implied, _children are not ready_. Then when would they be ready? When would he? And ready for what?

He slept through classes and never did his assignments, never completed the readings and never heeded the words of his tutors. The words of 'Respect others as you would yourself' fell on deaf ears and a very disgruntled Freud. He never saw the value in listening to anything that was this _meaningless_. After all they had submerged him in this myopic haze for absolutely no reason and simply assumed he would conform to their banal ways. For that he despised them and made sure to let everyone know the extent of his hate.

The first time he'd laid a fist on someone, he'd knocked him cleanly into unconsciousness. That night he had just finished wiping all the shelves in the old monastery library, had books fall on his head and his feet, and was in a foul mood. He was dragging the big bucket back to the toilet when one of the other boys came up to him.

Freud couldn't remember what the boy had said but he remembered being so angry. This was the monk's most smiled-on boy, gloating at the monastery's nightmare. So much for being the role model, right – so much for respect. Couple that with his long-time frustration and he couldn't stop himself. Out flew his fist and connected with the boy's face. The thud that emanated from the boy's crushed nose was so satisfying it rang in his ears for nights.

Since then he found an affection for bruises and scratches. Sure he had to spend the next few days being counselled but it was worth it to see the _monk's pet _walking around with a patch on his face. He enjoyed the way the cowardly boy kept to the other side of the corridor as he passed. And he especially enjoyed how the other children would look at him with fear and trepidation. Even the older ones kept their distance. Size meant nothing when he was so incredibly tired of conforming, to stereotypes, to routines, to instructions. He collected bloodied knuckles and broken teeth – to be slipped into the pot of gruel and rediscovered during mealtime – and a growing reputation.

The monks tried to punish him, tried to reason with him, tried to threaten, joke, and cajole. He saw through all of it, and watched their futile attempts with a knowing, contemptuous smirk. Completely apathetic to their efforts, he paraded his wounds like medals, and took pride in his downward spiral from model student to bad influence.

Freud the bully. He liked the label very much.

Nobody knew what to do with him, and for that he was proud. He had nobody to answer to since this monastery was, after all, where he had been dropped off as a toddler. His parents were just two shadowy figures in the background, two people whom he blamed for leaving him in this accursed place when he could have been outside exploring what the world had to offer. He was nobody's, and while other children had to answer to someone, he was the nomad of the group, the odd one out who could do as he pleased.

Once this thought occurred to him, he couldn't get it out. _He was nobody's._ The consequences of his actions were his alone. So why was he still here, when he could simply get up and leave? He saw no reason to stay, and so he tried to run. The walls were too high for him but he didn't let that stop him from trying. He practiced, in the dead of night, running towards the concrete and taking one leap against it to give him the momentum to scale the wall. He remembered his second attempt vividly; he'd lost his centre of balance and was sent reeling across the grass. He hadn't cried out when his ankle snapped nor when he grazed the skin of his entire arm against the unyielding concrete. Morning found him back in his room, calm and stoic, with a scab-covered arm and a mauled leg. He was sent to the infirmary and he had no comments or words to offer by way of explanation. But the monks they placed outside his room to monitor him didn't even miss him when he slipped out the window instead of the door, to run across the grass on his healed feet, to attempt to break out.

It was a night like any other, when everyone thought Freud to be in his room 'sleeping' while he slipped out the window, shimmied down a pipe two windowsills away, and headed for the backyard. He was about to launch himself towards the wall when he heard the rustle and the snapping of twigs.

Knowing better than to call out, he snuck towards the noise, feeling horribly exposed in the simple monastery habit he wore, without even a stick for underhanded self-defense. Under the new moon it was almost near impossible to see anything, except the towering walls that ran the perimeter of the monastery, and the trunks of trees, thick like pillars. He treaded softly, his many attempts of sneaking out teaching him to travel light and quietly so he could avoid detection, if not from ear-sharp monks then from a danger he wasn't yet able to see.

There was a small form in the grass, half hidden in the bushes. Freud tried to make out the silhouette but it was unlike anything he'd ever seen, not human but too big to be a cat. A dog? It was impossible for it to have landed in the middle of the yard so far away from the walls.

The _thing _let out a quiet mew and shifted. It was injured. Even from where he was standing, leaning out from behind a tree, he could see it favouring its left as it tried to get up. But what business did it have here, or him trying to interfere? For all he knew it was hostile and aggressive and would take off his head with one movement.

Logically he ought to run. Tell the monks what he'd seen. No, then he'd have to explain what he was doing out there, and he knew they'd have such a fit that they'd forget about the injured thing he'd found. Forget it, he'd just try his best and see what he could do.

Surely death would be better than this horrible monastery anyway.

Freud edged out from behind the tree. Now he felt strangely calm, detached, and oddly so given how little he knew about the risk he was putting himself into. As if the creature registered his willingness to help, it shifted its weight and turned.

Two eyes, golden yellow like liquid fire, shined in the darkness. Freud stopped in his tracks, shock flaring in his mind. These were no feline eyes, nor canine ones. No animal's eyes shone like _this_.

It waited for him, those orbs of gold boring into the essence of his being, reading him and all he had to offer. If he'd felt unprotected before, now he felt completely bare. The eyes saw all, and the way its presence permeated his mind made him feel uncomfortably like it was reading his very memories. And there was a constant but almost imperceptible thought floating at the back of his mind: _walk forward_.

Freud blinked in confusion. Every fibre of him was rearing to turn tail but yet the thought was there, tantalizing, goading him onward, towards a certain death. Did he really want to approach it? Or was the thought not actually his? Before he realised that he was walking he was in front of it. Heart pounding and mind now numb from the stress, he slid to kneel – in something almost like reverence!, he realised – and then he finally made it out. A long snout, two horns, and wings. This creature was a dragon.

Another thought flickered in his mind, pulling him out of his disbelief. It was more of an impression than anything else but it was definitely there, the pain in its wing and in its hind leg. The dragon whined in unhidden anguish and Freud felt his heart tear into two.

'I'm going to bring you back,' he murmured to the dragon. He wasn't sure if it understood English or if it could even hear, but he continued talking anyway. 'I'll fix your leg and wing.'

He stood up, expecting the dragon to follow him, and then realised it couldn't walk, or fly. It just lay there in a helpless muddle, looking at him beseechingly as he contemplated his next move. Leaving out here in the open was not a good idea. Sure there were walls but what'd happen if the monks found it? He remembered some old text they were reading that condemned the dragon as a monster of evil, and who actually knew what they subscribed to? Would they kill it, or help? For the first time in a long time he regretted not paying more attention to his lessons.

'I'm going to pick you up, okay?' he finally found his voice.

The dragon blinked tiredly. He could only hope it was in consent. Though there was no way of knowing, he wasn't going to simply reach around and pick it off the ground, not when he wasn't sure what it was likely to do. Dragons were supposed to have fangs, and teeth, and eat meat. He wasn't ready to die, not like this. But the way it begged him wordlessly, with those sincere and doleful eyes... He couldn't just leave it. He sighed inwardly - it was up to him, then. Slowly, he knelt down again and very, very tentatively held out his hand.

When the dragon raised its muzzle and pushed it into his palm, Freud felt something warm and electric buzz up his arm. It was unlike anything he'd felt before. It was almost addictive, as if it completed him somehow, in some weird way, filling a pit of emptiness he always knew he had but hadn't a slightest clue how to fill.

With his newfound courage, he reached around the dragon and it shifted as best as it could to give him better grip. One hand around its hips and another supporting its neck he cradled it stomach-up like a cat, mesmerised by its glowing eyes and the way it looked to understand a hidden, greater truth in the world.

'Just what have you seen out there?' he murmured enviously to the creature in his arms, who could only stare back wordlessly.

Somehow he got the dragon to clutch on his shoulders as he clambered back up the pipe. It rested its head on his shoulder as he climbed, and its wounded leg it held outwards so he wouldn't bump into it. The added weight to Freud's shoulders made him perspire but he gritted on anyway. From head to tip of tail it was as long as he was tall, though the two horns on its head made it look far bigger than that. It was probably just a baby, or very young adolescent at best, and with a certain amazement he wondered just how big an adult one could be.

The skies were definitely big enough for hundreds of these majestic creatures.

He nearly missed his footing as he leaped from the last windowsill to his own, barely managing to hold on with the tips of his fingers. Biting down a gasp of relief, he slid back into his room, and helped the dragon curl up on the thin mattress. Only now did he realise that the dragon wasn't black but a soft blue, its horns slightly more blunted in the light... and its wing, and its leg, twisted into a horrible shape.

'Wait here and _please_ be quiet, okay?' he whispered. A glance towards the bottom of his door saw the silhouette of the monk they'd put on sentry duty, but it was unmoving. Probably dozing on the chair just outside. But a single noise would wake him, since all monks did sleep very lightly. He could only hope that the dragon stayed absolutely silent.

Out the window he went for the second time that night, this time with unbearable urgency. He clambered into that _pet's _room but didn't mess up the room like he usually did, instead hurrying out the door and into the corridors. The monastery looked deserted in the night but he was used to it by now, and felt his way confidently to the infirmary. Thankfully at this time there wasn't a soul awake to see or hear him as he tried the lock until it gave.

What now? Freud had no experience treating wounds - he was the one giving them. The only thing he knew to use were band-aids. And he wasn't going to subject the poor dragon to that horrible brown liquid... Adine, was it? Or Iodine? … not when it burned like salt. But he had to do something. He dug in the drawers and upended boxes, pulling out bandages, and two boxes of plasters, and gauze (all of which he'd seen his victims wear).

The box in his hands was horrifically empty and his spoils suddenly didn't seem adequate to treat the dragon in its condition. He had never seen someone's bones broken, never saw how such injuries ought to be dealt with... but he knew who did. The monks. After all, they knew everything, didn't they? They always talked as if they did. The thought of approaching them for help was against everything he'd told himself to be. Independent - to not need them at all. But the mere thought of the creature hobbling like that, unable to recover, sent a sick wave through his guts. He looked down at the box and sighed. No matter what, he knew that they knew better, far better than he did.

So it was settled. At least, on his end. He would bite his tongue and swallow his pride for that poor dragon. Whatever they'd ask, he'd do, at least until the dragon could fly and go home. As long as it got better, he told himself, steeling his nerves, as long as it got better, it'd be worth it.

He turned to leave, heart heavy for the knowledge of what he had to do. Then he jumped so high and so violently that everything cluttered out of the box in his hands and onto the floor.

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway, watching him as he flustered to hide the now-empty box behind him. In his eyes was a look of utter emotionlessness that had settled ever since he started wreaking havoc in the monastery.

They stood for a moment, Freud trying to calm his breathing and the man studying the startled boy, neither uttering a word.

'Not you,' Freud breathed.

Only after a bottle of saline rolled against the man's shoe did he bend to pick it up. 'I knew I heard the sound of the infirmary door opening,' he said calmly as he set the bottle on a table. And then he stopped talking.

Freud ground his teeth so hard he felt the man would hear him. Many a time when he'd gotten into trouble the two of them would end up in a quiet room, both unwilling to give way to the other. The silence that would ensue, now way too awfully familiar to the young boy, could stretch on for hours until one of them cracked and confessed and apologised - and it was always Freud who gave in first, because what did the monk have to gain from breaking the silence? It drove him insane the way these tense moments made him on edge although he knew that the man, unlike the other monks, would never berate him.

What made Father Rene stand out from the other monks was the way he always squeezed the truth out of Freud. His stare was unwavering and his patience even more so, to the point that Freud would rather clean the entire monastery seven times than be sent to Rene's study, to face that soul-haunting silence, to face that unflinching gaze. And in every single one of the accursed times when he had no choice, he would always swear that it was this time that he wouldn't apologise, this time that he wouldn't confess, this time that he wouldn't crack. And in every single time, he would walk away, head low, full of disgust at himself for doing exactly what he swore he wouldn't do.

And tonight, out of all nights, Rene had to catch him in the act. Here was Rene and his infinite patience, and here he was trapped in the infirmary, with a mess to account for and a dragon awaiting urgent treatment. Freud could kick himself. He knew what he had to do and he knew he would do it. That he'd simply _tell Rene everything_ so the dragon could get what it needed, without putting up any fight at all.

'Look, I can -'

'I'm surprised, Freud,' the abbot interrupted. Freud waited in impatient silence as the man circled him and sat at the edge of a counter, watching him. 'You're not even bothering to try and test me tonight.'

'I can't,' he gasped, after some hesitation. With every muscle screaming in protest he slowly put the box on a nearby table. 'I would if I could, okay? But I can't.'

The man raised an eyebrow.

'Not today,' Freud felt impelled to clarify.

'So... why would you sneak out of your room in the dead of night to the infirmary, of all places?'

These were the questions he hated the most. Father Rene was the most established monk in the monastery and he was, clear to everyone, the smartest. Though his tongue was as sharp as his wit he never had a stinging word for anybody, not even Freud. And though he was always on the top of everything, and though he could read Freud like an open book, he always shaped his questions so Freud was the one answering, always pushed back into the corner with nowhere to go.

Obviously he was in the infirmary for only one reason. He'd been caught walking out with bandages and plasters, so obviously something was hurt. Ignoring the fact that he was breaking a bunch of rules, by his being awake at this inhumanly hour, it was obviously something very important. And considering how he was about ready to spill the beans so quickly, it definitely was something urgent.

'Don't scold me okay,' Freud pleaded, as he always did, though he knew Rene would never do so. 'I found this dragon in the grass and it was hurt and I was just trying to help...'

Rene nodded slowly. Curse this man. And curse himself, the way he was read so easily. Did it really show on his face that he had something else to say?

He tried to avoid the question. 'I think it broke its wing. And its leg.'

'And you are going to use _these_...' Rene held up a limp band-aid. '... to fix broken limbs?'

'I was going to ask for help, okay?' Freud snapped. And then he turned away, and imperceptibly mumbled, 'Iwasgonnafindyoualready.'

Although he had slurred all the words and though his voice was soft even in the still night air, Freud knew the monk had heard him. Without a doubt. The man could hear the footsteps of mischievous boys from five rooms away, and hear the slightest of creaks from the infirmary door.

Rene stood up. With little hesitation Freud made for the door. It took all his self-control to stop him sprinting back to his room, but he set a brisk pace and didn't glance back to see if the Father was following him. The monk who was guarding the door to his room jerked upright, completely horrified to see Freud with the Father Rene in tow. Despite himself, Freud allowed a small smirk as the monk moved aside sheepishly, silently acknowledging his failure to guard an eight year old boy.

The monk was waved away before Father Rene gestured that it was safe for Freud to open the door. With trepidation and trembling fingers, the boy fitted his fingers around the knob and turned it.

The dragon looked up at the sound, slightly alarmed that its small human companion was suddenly leading a big-sized adult behind it. Sensing its imminent distress Freud held up his hand and Rene stopped behind him.

'It's okay,' he murmured reassuringly as the dragon bared its fangs. So many teeth, he found himself thinking. 'He's a...' Slightly embarrassed he caught himself almost saying the word _friend _and a backward glance at the silent monk told him that Rene also knew. 'He won't hurt you. I promise.'

The dragon's growling subsided but it curled tighter into itself. Still its ruined leg hung crookedly off the bed and its wing was draped limply across the sheets.

Anxiously, the young boy turned as Rene stepped forward, registering no emotion across his calm face. 'I need to see how badly you are hurt,' the man said to the dragon, who whimpered, unable to resist. With experienced hands Rene shifted the limb and the broken wing until he got a better idea of the damage, talking soothingly to the dragon when it hissed in pain. Inwardly Freud marvelled at the deftness of his fingers and wondered if Rene learned all this from those books of his or whether there was a completely different side to the silent and patient Father he wasn't aware of.

After what seemed like eternity, Father Rene got to his feet. His face was emotionless, a stark contrast to the concerned boy and to the agonized creature on the bed.

'Your dragon has fractured the bones in his thigh once, and the wing twice,' Rene pulled the boy's chair to the bed and eased himself on it, laying a gentle hand on the head of the dragon. It mewed again and allowed its eyelids to flutter closed, breathing laboriously through bared fangs. 'It's a very painful injury but it isn't anything a splint and rest cannot fix.'

So many unspoken words hung in the air that Freud could feel them coalescing and settling heavily on his shoulders. He decided to save everyone the trouble and jumped headfirst into the Father's bait.

'I'll do anything.' Freud growled. 'Just help it.'

'I want you to go to the library... yes, Freud. I want you to go now.' Father Rene wasn't even looking at him as he spoke. Freud felt the helplessness bubble up inside him but forced himself to say nothing. Rene continued without missing a beat. 'Find and bring me a book written by Kyla Reid.'

'What's the title?'

Rene glanced at him. 'Look for the author Kyla Reid. Now go. The little one's depending on you.' The brevity of the action reminded Freud of someone looking to the window to check the weather and nothing more.

One more look at the pained dragon was enough to send him tearing out the door, biting back anger and swears. Wasn't the man going to help? So why was he being sent to the _library_ to look for an accursed _book_? Father Rene, experienced or not, was not going to use paper and parchment to treat a wound, was he?

Or perhaps it was magic. He'd heard from one of the other monks that Father Rene was capable of performing amazing healing spells, to heal searing burns or close bloodied gashes in midriffs. The book had to be one with an incantation, to set bones straight and help them heal. The realisation lent speed to his feet and he pounded down the hallways, caring less if someone woke and berated him. He had the authority of the abbot now, with a creature's fate in his hands. Nothing else mattered more.

The library was pitch black. Of course it would be. Freud smacked himself on the head and stumbled over to the storage room to fetch a candle. Nights spent here a long, long time ago helped him remember how many steps to take, and the shelf with the matches. It took three attempts before he got a candle lit but soon he was hurrying down the shelves, careful not to run so the flame wouldn't go out.

It wasn't as large as he remembered, nor the shelves as tall. How short was he when he last came here? He couldn't remember. All he remembered now was how the shelves were ordered and that was all he cared about.

O... P... Q...

When Freud reached the shelf he was looking for, he nearly dropped the candle in fright. Kyla Reid's books spanned the entirety of two shelves. R was the largest section of the library owing to this very fact.

Which book did that abbot want?

In the darkness Freud let out a frustrated cry and barely managed to set the candle down on a nearby table before launching himself at the books. Books, books, books, useless books, with answers but all convoluted into riddles, fancy words and sentences that meant nothing. Useless monks, a useless abbot who was apathetic to the plight of that dragon. A frustratingly calm abbot who drove him out of his mind and sent him on inane errands with no start or end in sight. An abbot who almost seemed to enjoy seeing him so vexed all the time and made him admit that he was wrong, always bad, always the problem child like _they_ all said he was.

Why didn't anyone just accept him for who he was?

Panting, and all the anger taken out of him, Freud stared at the books on the ground he'd ripped from the shelves in his rage. Numbly he scanned the titles as best as he could, mechanically tugging books into a pile which he thought Rene wanted him to retrieve. This Kyla Reid, whomever he or she was, had written so many books on so many different topics, it was almost comical to Freud. The jack of all trades, master of none.

Everything related to medicine, magic, first-aid, incantations, spells. Everything else he pushed away. But he only was tasked to find one book. Books on summoning he removed, on therapy he removed. Slowly and deliberately Freud the bully looked through the summaries and leafed through the books where there were none, finally finalising his search to three books.

With the candle almost eaten away, he had to hurry. _A study on Anatomy of Reptiles_, was the title of one book. _Treating and Diagnosing Limbic Fractures_, the second, and the third _Healing, Mending and Reforming_. All three sounded incredibly dry and while the book on reptile anatomy didn't seem pressing to the task at hand, he wasn't sure if the Abbot had ever seen or even treated a dragon before. As to the other two books, Freud could only hope that Rene would be using the book on magic rather than physical treatment.

By the time he burst back in his room he'd already collected three other monks shouting for him to stop, and all the sleeping ones he'd passed by were definitely roused. But one word from the Abbot was enough to send them back to their rooms, most unwillingly and still suspicious of the panting boy with tousled auburn hair and desperate blue eyes.

Father Rene stepped aside to let Freud into the room, but lay a hand on his shoulder in warning. The dragon had passed out from the pain and for that Freud felt the anger bubble in him anew. Medical supplies, many Freud had seen but didn't know the name of, sat in a case beside the dragon.

'The book?' asked Father Rene.

Freud thrust the book on magic out. 'Here, Father _Reen_. It's stupid to ask for one when you need bandage inste -'

'Wrong book,' interrupted the monk, pushing the volume away. 'Go back.'

The boy threw the book on the ground in frustration. 'No. I have another one.'

Father Rene watched impassively as Freud tugged the rear end of his shirt from his pants and let the other book fall to the ground. The boy picked it up. 'Here. The book on bones.'

'Well? Open it then. Page three hundred and two.'

For the dragon for the dragon for the dragon, Freud had to keep muttering under his breath. He didn't care if the abbot heard it anymore. Did Father Rene really memorise the pages... and read every single book in the library?

The abbot held up his finger as Freud opened his mouth. 'Now. I want you to read whatever is in the book and explain what I should do.'

Freud gaped in astonishment. He knew the man was deranged, but today it had reached a new high. Of all times, of all the times he could choose to teach Freud the value of reading, why now?

'Freud. What is this called?' The abbot held up the short and thick wooden slab.

Offering his apologies to the dragon, Freud scanned the page. 'A splint.'

'Good. And this?'

'I know it's a bandage without reading, _Reen_...'

'Before we go on. How should someone pronounce my name?'

Freud glowered. The answer was one he knew, and was forced to say very often, but how could he not jump at the opportunity to snide the old man while he could? '... It's Re-Nay.'

'Instead of?'

'Reen.'

'And how should you address me?'

'Father Re-Nay.'

'Good. Now tell me why I need to use the splint...'

The rest of the next few hours Freud spent standing, eyes scanning the faded lines on the page for answers to the Abbot's incessant questions. He watched as the Abbot fitted the splint to the crooked bone, winced as he shifted the two fragments back into place, and bound it with the bandage. The same he did for the wing, instead fitting it onto a thin wooden board he'd prepared beforehand, fixing the numerous bones in place with surgical tape and soft thread. It was done sooner than he expected, and he only realised that the dragon would be fine when the Abbot repacked his tools and stood to leave.

Freud stared at the dragon, looking strangely small with the splints on its limbs. Though it had slept through the entire ordeal, he couldn't help but wonder if the pain was so intense that it drove the dragon unconscious. 'Re - Father Rene, how... did the dragon faint from the pain... or did you...?'

'I gave it some medicine and it fell asleep.' The abbot wore the collected look he'd bore throughout the procedure and it didn't seem to be going away anytime soon. 'Read page fifty seven and tell me what I used.'

Freud berated himself for asking, but he did as the abbot asked. 'Anesthesia.' Briefly he glanced through the rest of the text in preparation for another question.

'Correct. It will sleep until midday tomorrow so don't worry for it. With plenty of rest, it'll heal.'

The boy nodded dumbly, finally feeling the vestiges of tiredness clouding his mind. What time was it? How long had that dragon suffered already?

'Tomorrow I will speak to you again and we shall discuss how to care for this dragon. In the meanwhile get some shuteye.'

Freud stumbled past the Abbot, his mind growing sluggish from the night's events. It was so surreal, the abbot, the books, the dragon, everything. He wasn't sure if he'd wake up in bed and find out it was all a dream.

'Oh yes.' The Abbot stopped at the door and turned, an unreadable expression on his face. 'Before you go down for lunch tomorrow be sure to tidy up the library. I want every book reshelved where they each ought to be, the exception being those two books, which you will bring to my study.'

And then Father Rene was gone. Freud wondered sleepily how the abbot knew about his rampage in the library, or why he didn't mention anything about breakfast, or what he wanted to do (again!) with those two books, and it was to the sound of the dragon's light breathing that he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

When Freud opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the color of golden fire. For a long moment he wondered why he had awoken in such a strange room until the color vanished, was replaced briefly with blue, and then reappeared.

Freud blinked to clear his vision. The colors seemed familiar somehow, and so was the feeling of being stared at. How strange it was that -

Those were eyes. Freud jerked out of his chair with a yelp and the dragon too startled backwards, mirroring his panic. The boy fumbled against his desk and upended the tray set there, having the bowl on its top flip into the air and land squarely on his head. Stew sloshed all over his habit. Shocked out of his mind a second time that morning he fought to clear the broth from his face before he realised the soft chuckling of the dragon. Opening his eyes he saw the dragon baring teeth, eyes half closed in a happy laugh. And he couldn't help but smile back.

The sun was already at its zenith, shining strongly in an azure sky that reminded him very much of the dragon's scales. Then he realised it wasn't morning at all, but already close to noon, and he'd been allowed to sleep through morning attendance, and breakfast, and best of all, morning lessons. With a light skip in his step he trotted down to clean himself up. He got reprimanded by the head chef and by the laundryman, but got another bowl of stew and a clean habit to replace his soiled one. They didn't ask him about last night though he was sure that everyone had already heard of the ordeal by now. Word travelled fast like fire here. After all, that was how he gained such a reputation for himself so quickly.

Back in his room and ready for lunch, a pang of disappointment hit him as he remembered the abbot's instructions to clean the library before lunch. He sighed. To the dragon that was staring unceasingly at him he said, 'I have to go clean up that horrible dusty library. Be good until I come back okay?'

The dragon blinked in reply.

For all the silence that was supposed to be maintained in the library, he got a terrible earful. He was sure that everyone could hear the librarian's anguished shouts but he really couldn't be bothered anymore. Wordlessly and as swiftly as he could he slotted the books back into their respective positions. How ironic it was that his previous self was helping him so often in the library to get him out of trouble. He remembered to retrieve the melted candle and its stand and tossed it haphazardly into the storage cabinet when he was sure the librarian had gone off to get a drink of water. Before that man could ease the strain in his voice and before round two could commence he was off, sprinting back down the hallways and back to his room.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks, and let out another groan.

The abbot sat in his chair, smiling softly as he fed the last of the stew to the ravenous dragon, which apparently had a taste for the carrots Freud used to hurl out the window or slip into the pockets of clean clothes. Baffled completely beyond words he could only stand in the doorway and watch as all his lunch vanished before his eyes.

He let out a small noise of disbelief.

'Good afternoon,' smiled Father Rene.

The dragon belched in greeting.

Freud did not - could not find words to reply.

'Come, it's time for that chat you promised m -'

'I haven't had lunch yet, _Reen!' _cried Freud in frustration. 'And I didn't promise it, you gave me the orders to find you in your study. _After _lunch!'

The abbot stared amusedly at him.

'Which you fed to the dragon!'

'Freud, how should you pronounce my name?'

The boy could slam his head into the door. 'Re-Nay.'

'And how should you address -'

'_Father _Re-nay,' snapped the boy loudly, interrupting the man. 'Can we just have that cursed talk now?' Hungry and disgruntled, Freud turned on his heel and made for the Abbot's study, sure that the dragon could understand every word and was laughing at him. He didn't wait long enough to find out.

He had been placed under the Abbot's supervision after changing hands many times. The responsibility of overseeing Freud's behaviour had been passed from monk to monk and Freud just shrugged them all down. It was only after every monk had tried to take the boy in hand, and only after the boy had indicated his aversion to authority in increasingly creative ways that the entire monastery finally turned to Father Rene as their last hope.

The middle-aged Father was a one trick pony but it was a trick he played because it was so effective. Freud would only admit that to himself for fear of being scorned by the monks, or their looks of _Finally that boy will get what's coming for him_. When he tried to burn the Abbot's books with matches he was subject to the longest silent treatment he'd ever been through. Probably at least half a day. But it worked, for he never involved the the Abbot's books in his pranks again.

Father Rene's room was as small as his. The first time Freud had stepped into his the study, he was surprised at how the other monks had bigger, more spacious rooms. Even discounting the old and sturdy bookcases that lined two of the four walls, the study was undeniably cramped. Plus the bed in the far corner opposite the desk, even he had to wonder how the Abbot could live with this.

The only thing different from usual was an additional desk that was fitted beside the Abbot's old one. Freud eyed it with unhidden distaste, a sinking feeling settling in his gut as he guessed what it was for. Who it was for.

'So what do you want to hear?' he drawled.

'Perhaps about last night's events.' Father Rene closed the door and perched on the bed instead of sitting as he usually did in his old wooden chair.

Freud regarded the man's calm expression, those deep, pitch-black eyes that spoke of an incredible amount of knowledge and wisdom. The more he stared the more they bore into him, and he was always reminded at how small he was, and how little he didn't know. Today was no exception and a part of Freud was certain that the man had already found out about his escapades to the back yard but just never said anything about it.

He didn't usually crack so early, but he was hungry and hoped the abbot would let him off as quickly as possible so he could eat.

'I was in the back yard...'

'Watering the sakura trees at that time? Never knew you had green thumbs.'

'Trying to run away.' Freud stared levelly at the man. 'Jump over the walls.'

A strange expression passed over the father's countenance but it was too quick to make out.

'That explains your broken ankle.' The father allowed himself a quiet smile. 'And why you always seem tired in the day when you were supposedly resting in your room the whole night.'

Obviously, Father Rene, thought Freud scathingly, I wouldn't have broke it on purpose, would I now?

The abbot cast a look at Freud's ankle. 'I'm surprised nobody else noticed your attempts, though. I know for a fact that jumping up the walls like that is a noisy affair.'

Freud didn't pick up on the abbot's implied meaning at the time, and only would a long time later.

'The brother outside my door can't guard a room even if it held gold.' He grinned instead, slightly proud that his sneaking prowess was something to be reckoned with, even if the Abbot had seen him after all. A small success was as good as any, right?

The abbot ignored his comment. 'Back to that dragon...'

'It was just lying there. In the bushes. Near the pond.'

'And you approached it?'

Freud scratched his head. 'I... I don't know why I did. Just felt it was the right thing to do I guess.'

Father Rene laughed. 'Dragons are well known for their telepathy.'

'It was speaking to me through my mind? But I didn't hear anything.'

'Young dragons are only able to transfer simple thoughts and emotions over to their targets. That's why you were impelled to help. I suppose you knew where it was hurt even before you saw the injury?'

Freud nodded, dumbly. What was the monk, a dragon keeper in his past life? 'You knew dragons exist?'

'I _know_ they do. In fact everyone does,' smiled the Abbot, walking over now to one of the bookcases and pulling an old volume out. 'You would too if you didn't skip class on Leafre's biodiversity.'

He didn't know what a Leafre was. Freud glowered. Fine, he got the hint that there were interesting things to be learned but he didn't want to _read _about them, he wanted to experience them for himself.

'Leafre is a subcontinent past the deserts of Ariant,' said the Abbot, reading his bewildered expression. 'Most of the world's dragons are found there... and I wouldn't be surprised that your little Onyx dragon is too.'

A what?

'Isn't onyx a type of rock?'

'Those dragons are so named for the sheen their scales take on after they have reached maturity.' The abbot flipped open the book in his hands and set it on the smaller desk. Freud didn't move to read it. 'Young Onyx dragons are blue, but their scales deepen in hue until they are almost completely black.'

As much as Freud was satisfied that there could be hundreds of other dragons out there, he was a little disappointed. He wanted to find out what dragon it was by himself, and not be told what it was. 'Okay, okay. What do you want me to do then?'

The abbot looked surprised at the untactful change of topic.

'I said I'd do anything if you helped the dragon,' muttered the boy, fists clenching by his sides. 'So what do you want me to do?'

'I'm glad you still remember our agreement. Since you asked so nicely let's just jump straight into it.' Father Rene smiled quietly, and Freud couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. 'This dragon is your responsibility and you will be its main caretaker. But you don't know what it likes to eat -'

'Stew,' growled Freud, bristling.

'- or if it requires anything specific to heal -'

'And carrots.'

'- which are some things you'll have to know if you want to care for it,' the abbot continued as if Freud hadn't talked at all. 'Because I'm not going to tell you how to go about doing that, you will read this book and find out as much as you can about them. All following action will be tasked to you.'

That made sense. As much as he hated to admit it, that made sense. And wasn't that what he wanted from the beginning? To do something hands-on, and to take responsibility for the dragon, and to not be told what to do. Maybe now he could finally show everyone what he could do, and he wasn't the irresponsible, immature kid they always made him out to be.

Freud sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, making sure the abbot could catch his unwillingness. 'Okay, okay. Stupid books.' He slouched over to the smaller desk and had his fingers around the spine of the book when Father Rene suddenly appeared beside him, pressing the volume firmly but gently back onto the table, sandwiching his fingers in between.

'Ah. I forgot to mention. You will do your readings here -'

'With you?' cried Freud, trying to pull his fingers out but not succeeding. 'Why can't I read in my room!'

'- at this desk. And I expect you here during lesson times, meaning between breakfast and lunch, and between lunch and exercise time.'

Freud racked his brains for a coherent protest but only found one. 'And the dragon will just stay in my room?'

The abbot took him by the shoulder and wordlessly walked him back to his room. Hushing all forms of objections from him, he quietly opened the door. On the bed, with a full belly, the dragon slept calmly, face finally free of pain.

'He'll be sleeping half the day away.' The abbot explained, Freud sulking like there was no tomorrow. 'He'll wake and wait for you when he's hungry, which is when you will be too.'

He was made to get his stationery and Reid's two other books. He trailed behind the abbot, Freud having to run to keep up with Father Rene's long strides, and he never felt any smaller.

After he had eaten a quick lunch under the Abbot's stern gaze, he was back in the stuffy study. At first he fidgeted, restless and worried for the dragon, but in the abbot's presence he couldn't walk out as he pleased. He made his displeasure loudly known with yawns and half-hearted muttering but Father Rene still sat at his desk, pouring over whatever text he had at hand.

But as much as he hated reading, he loved reading about the Onyx dragons. The golden eyes rose frequently to mind as he scanned the pages, finding himself voraciously absorbing every word and every bit of knowledge about them. He learned about their habits, the way they slept in the day but ruled the night, how they hunted in packs, and how a strict but merciful hierarchy ruled the race as efficiently as - if not more than - how humans did. They were sentient dragons, unlike the creatures in Leafre, and had complex ways to communicate amongst themselves. It was often reported that these dragons could mimic human speech, or at least transmit thoughts to humans using the words and alphabets they did.

When the book came to a close, it was only mid-afternoon, and Freud was sad it had to end so quickly. The author's style was enrapturing and despite such a factual topic, he'd been surprisingly eager to continue reading. So whomever it was, he supposed to ought to give the author some credit. Flipping to the last page to read the acknowledgements, he could have flipped the desk there and then.

'I see you've enjoyed Miss Reid's text,' laughed the abbot, breaking the silence, making Freud jump again. He could only glare back and try to calm his breathing as he continued. 'While many considered her a jack of all trades and master of none -' Freud allowed himself a smirk at that - 'she is well-versed in many fields and can discuss them in great depth.'

Freud rolled his eyes. 'Well thanks to stupid Reid, I needed to look through hundreds of books. While the dragon waited.'

'It's also thanks to her that you understand more about it too,' said Rene easily. He turned back to his readings. 'Well, since you've completed the book in far less a time than I expected, I suppose you're dismissed.'

_Far less a time than he_ - Freud growled and glanced at the book. Indeed it was a thick volume but once upon a time he would be eating these books for breakfast! The abbot was underestimating him.

'I can read faster than that,' he murmured in place of goodbye. Getting up and feeling too well-read for his liking, he reverted back to his childish demeanour and blew a raspberry over his shoulder as he opened the door. 'Byebye stupid Reen.'

He tore back to his room so he would have distance as an excuse to not hear the Abbot calling him back, but strangely he heard nothing anyway. That suited him fine. The dragon was there, sleeping calmly. Now that Freud knew better he could safely say it was the equivalent of his age in human years. And given the nature of its injuries, it would be ready to fly in half a month.

But the abbot's words nagged at him as he busied himself in his suddenly-spacious room. So he felt that Freud was a slow reader? Was that only because of the way he behaved? He could be a fast reader if he wanted - and he'd wager that even the _pet _couldn't read as fast as him. He'd finished that thick book on Onyx dragons in a few hours, for heaven's sake! That wasn't something to be sniffed at. Though he might be a nasty boy in the eyes of the monks, reading fast was a skill few had and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it.

When the dragon awoke he was halfway through the book on human medicine and knew how to properly bind bones in the event of a compound fracture - if the bone broke in more than one place. He knew how to bind differently a fracture in the arm bones, ribs, and thighs, and was just about to move on to the smaller bones like fingers.

It yawned and the loud sound tore Freud abruptly from his concentration. He turned sharply, just fast enough to see the rows of teeth... so many teeth... close at the tail end of the yawn. The dragon chirped and lifted its arm to wave. He was so startled at the human-like behaviour that he almost didn't wave back, and when he did the dragon broke into the widest grin he had ever seen.

In some ways that dragon meant the world to him. It gave him a sense of purpose when he changed the bandage every morning and used saline to clean the arm, and the wing membranes. Finally a breath of something new had come into his life, in the strangest of forms which was this dragon, and he was just relieved that his life in this stuffy old monastery could still see some improvements. Sure it'd only be for a while but the way the dragon watched him with those emotive eyes gave him so much satisfaction it made his heart burst.

That dragon accompanied him everywhere. Even though the Abbot's study was already cramped enough, it insisted on latching to Freud's shoulders as he read, otherwise it'd curl up on the Father's bed and sleep the afternoon away. It watched him eagerly from the window as he ran laps around the perimeter of the monastery alone (as the Abbot permitted him to), and ate beside him when he brought their meals back to the room on a tray.

Before he even knew it he was irrevocably attached to it and missed it greatly when he was sent on errands. Normal errands, not the punishment kind, for now Freud spent his time safely in his room reading, or with the abbot, or playing with the dragon. The monastery grew quieter and everyone seemed to heave a sigh of relief as the unbearable whirlwind of energy which was Freud shifted his attention to other less destructive things.

Of course he would. That dragon lent meaning to his actions every day and helped him settle into a relatively untroubled routine. It taught him the value of silence when communication by mere emotion was enough. It taught him how to keep his heart calm in the way it never looked perturbed even if one of the monks would come by Freud's room to berate him for whatever wrongdoing he might have done in the day. And most of all... It taught him what peace was. He couldn't understand the dragon just as he couldn't understand the abbot, couldn't understand how they had so much satisfaction within them that it overflowed into their actions. The contrast between them was stark; he was like a rushing river while they were the leaves that floated on the surface of the rapids, unaffected by his raging torrents and emotional outbursts.

But beyond that, the dragon was his friend like nobody else was. It was his playmate and he spent nights telling the creature fairy tales and legends. He was proud to share whatever brief knowledge he had about the land he lived in, knowledge that he garnered from _books _but still knowledge anyway. He spoke of Ariant with their gypsies and travelling nomads and thieves, he spoke of a race of Light mages who occupied a faraway land called Aurora, he spoke of an icy land called Rien and their fierce tribes of warriors, he spoke of the lush lands of Elluel and their Elven rulers. The dragon listened to him with that unwavering attention and while Freud was convinced that it could understand him, even if it didn't, having the dragon listen as he talked eased so much pressure off him and calmed him down like nothing else did.

Freud helped the dragon out of its splint when the time came. He was twitching with excitement. He just couldn't help himself. It had been as he predicted, merely half a month since the dragon's arrival, and it was finally time to help it work some strength back into its muscles. Under the watchful eye of the Abbot he unwrapped the bandage deftly and efficiently, and rubbed the life back into its leg. With a satisfied croon the dragon flexed its leg and then leaped into the air with joy.

It toppled over many of the stacks of books in Freud's room as it vaulted from the dresser to the newly-installed bookshelf, and upset the quills and parchments that he had just painstakingly indexed. But he found himself laughing, mirroring the dragon's joy as it could finally, finally fly again. It landed on his head and down they fell in a mess of adrenaline and happiness, the dragon licking furiously at his face to express its thanks and Freud trying to catch his breath when it was knocked out of him. The dragon, for Freud never had the heart to name it, leaped to its feet and trotted once around the room, coming to a rest beside the abbot and the boy sitting up on the floor.

'Freud did a good job helping with your injuries,' the Abbot said after Freud had finished laughing. The boy turned in surprise but the dragon seemed to be expecting his words. Father Rene had a genuinely contented smile on his face, and for once Freud could finally see what the man felt inside.

But as the monk continued, Freud grew more and more surprised, and more and more confused.

'Freud is one of the smartest boys to have graced this monastery.' Freud stared, disbelieving, as Father Rene knelt by his side to level his gaze with the Onyx dragon. 'He learned the ways of your people in one afternoon, taught himself medicine in a day, and memorised my entire history collection in a week. He has displayed immeasurable bravery in approaching you, and even more for putting his pride on the line to help you.'

The dragon nodded. Freud blinked in astonishment. The first sign of understanding from the dragon that wasn't a blink and it was reserved for the Father?

'I wish you luck and peace in your travels. Your kin must be very concerned for you.' The dragon nodded again as Father Rene continued. 'I apologise but we have never had a way of communicating with them or to let them know that you are safe. The seasonal storm is approaching and it is only fortunate that you should be able to return just before its arrival.'

The dragon got to its feet and Freud spluttered, his mind now completely shaken and unable to form coherent thoughts. 'W-W-What... You're going now? So fast? So soon? But I... I...'

The Father placed a heavy hand on Freud's shoulder but still he sprang to his feet as the dragon made for the window, sorrow in its eyes. 'You can't go! Don't leave me behind!'

'Freud,' said the accursed Abbot with that tone of voice that meant trouble should Freud not behave, but the boy didn't care.

The dragon was going to up and leave just like that? How could it, after Freud had become a changed person for it? He'd endured so many stares and read so many books to help it and it was just going to _leave him behind... _to do what? What was he going to do now?

'Don't leave me with them,' he gasped, catching the dragon by the shoulders and pressing its trembling form to him.

His days had all but revolved around this dragon, in more ways than one. Now that the dragon was gone what was he going to do? What could he do? Without the dragon, who was a friend - no, maybe even a brother to him, he was left purposeless, without aim, to go back to his horrible, meaningless ways and face all the ill treatment from the monks again.

The dragon licked him once after a long hesitation. And for the second time in his life his heart was ripped cleanly into two when he saw the conflicted look in its eyes, wanting to stay but needing to go. Then he realised he was being selfish, that this was a creature with a family, with _parents_, with others that cared for him. That was why Father Rene brought it up earlier. Freud could be an orphan, but it didn't mean that others were too. And he couldn't afford to let the dragon's family worry any longer. It'd been gone for half a month, which was a very long time. If he were the dragon's brother, he wouldn't want that. Not for the world.

Biting hard on his lips to stop the tears from leaving his eyes, he untangled himself from the dragon. The boy, bully turned prodigy, swallowed hard before he opened his mouth, then closed it. Even after all the books he'd read, he had no human words apt enough to express his pain. But he knew the dragon felt it, for he felt the dragon's anguish, and all he needed to do was to pat the dragon once on the head in farewell, and step back.

With a mournful whistle the dragon leaped onto the windowsill, judged the flowing air currents, and cast one more look back over its shoulder. Freud lifted a hand to wave and it waved back. And then it was gone.

Freud didn't watch it go. He crumpled to the ground, silent tears finally leaking from his shaking frame, uncaring of the abbot placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, uncaring that the monk could see his one act of weakness. All he knew now that he was alone, stuck in this horrible place, without that dragon, and without the way it filled the void in his soul.


	2. Act Two - The Diplomat

The next few days he spent in a mindless haze. He didn't even have the energy to revert back to his normal trouble-causing self. He was so tired. Often he would jerk awake in the middle of the night after dreams that the dragon was there, perching on his windowsill, golden eyes glowing in the darkness. He would wake up in the morning and fumble his way down to the infirmary for a fresh supply of bandage, only to wake up halfway down the stairs and remember that he was already relieved of his duties. He would sometimes hesitate at lunchtime when they only gave him one bowl instead of two, wondering why they didn't give him the dragon's portion as well.

He didn't shed any more tears. The dragon was gone, and no amount of crying would bring him back. So Freud hardened his heart to the pain that throbbed at the back of his mind at every waking moment. The monks read his dark expression and stayed out of his way. The other children, if they'd shunned him before, now screamed and ran the opposite direction. Everyone was fearful of him and the way his eyes were dulled from a terrible, terrible loss.

All except one man. Father Rene was there when he woke up with night terrors and when he had nobody to turn to, especially when his entire world seemed to be turning away from him at once. The one thing that kept him sane were the sessions he had in the Father's study. The first day after the dragon's absence Freud had read ten books instead of his usual five, and the abbot had to send him to his room in case the boy drove himself mad. But the days following that, they eased back into something resembling normalcy, when Freud would ask questions about the texts and they would discuss calmly the issues raised. The topic of Onyx dragons was never again broached, and the Abbot didn't comment when Freud returned him the book on said dragons, too pained to see it in his room.

The young boy Freud grew. He was finally allowed outside the monastery at ten, two years younger than the other boys who were let out, and two years after meeting the dragon. But he didn't have the energy to run, nor a reason to. All he wanted to do now was drown out the dull but ever-present ache that the dragon's absence had left in him. When he was sent to the nearby Herb Town or if he had to travel days to get to the floating city of Orbis, he would always bring a book or maybe an entire haversack full, to make sure that he had something to occupy his mind with. And what better way to do so than to stay in the monastery where the Abbot would give him readings and the endless supply of books he craved?

Come his teen years Freud grew into his clothes and then out of them. His late nights carved shadows under his eyes and he was lean although he barely left his room. Anyone who walked past him could feel the grief radiating off him in waves, though he slowly managed to school his expression to conceal it. None of the mood swings which affected his peers got to him at all, since he'd been through so large an emotional scar that everything else paled in comparison, and when he did feel sad or sorrowful for no reason he simply immersed himself into a book until it went away.

Because of this he became the epitome of peace, just second to the abbot. The monks began to include him in their discussions or gossip, to hear his input. He always had something insightful to say, which was only a result of his vast knowledge and reading habits, but he never took pride in it. He never saw the need to, anyway. It meant nothing to him, merely a pastime and something he used as a distraction. Before he knew it, the newer children looked up to him as a cool and suave brother who knew everything about anything. His peers regarded him enviously and would often come to him for advice or for help with their homework. Though when he realised that a copy of his answers that he passed to one of them would suddenly be circulated to the entire group, he instantly changed roles from 'answer-giver' to tutor. He never attended the same classes as them, for still the Abbot had him under his wing, learning philosophy and the deeper ways of the world.

When he was sixteen, Father Rene took him to a conference with the fairies of Orbis, some of the elders from the town of El Nath, and the leaders of the elven village Elluel, to discuss the state of the floating stones, how to keep their magic intact, some of the seal stones, and discuss exchanging some of their literary texts. It was about this time that the evil monstrosity that was the Black Mage first made his name heard, and began terrorising the lands with his very aura, causing plants to turn thorny and inedible, and the farm animals to grow uneasy. His henchmen were still small in number but the growing support was a grave concern to be raised in the conference.

It was, to Freud, a very dry conference - necessary, but dry. What made it interesting was the way they all kept staring at him. As if they'd never seen an adolescent boy before. Oblivious to this he took notes diligently, murmuring his comments to Father Rene, and presenting his opinion when addressed. He spoke freely and with little doubt in his voice, making sure that every word meant exactly what he wanted it to so there would be no room for misunderstanding.

It lasted for several days, meeting in one of the vast guildhouses in Orbis that was the largest in the floating city. The elders were all wizened and grey, followed by their assistants toting stacks of parchment and volumes. The fairies he hadn't seen for the first time, but he'd never got a chance to observe how the race's soldiers looked, decked in their gleaming armour and translucent wing-guards. And the elves of Elluel looked as majestic as how he'd envisioned them, walking one head taller than the tallest human around. Without meaning to, they exuded an extraordinary sense of grandeur and wisdom that put everyone to shame. He was a small boy again when he looked at them, whatever knowledge he had beforehand simply a drop to their ocean.

What caught his eye the most was not the Elven King or his right hand men, but their princess. Her name was Mercedes. One look and Freud could instantly tell that the King relied on her often for advice, and that she was adept at politics, and that she knew how to rule. Despite her small stature, she held the serene look befitting of a long-respected queen, and the firmness of a fair king. As she spoke her turn, he felt the weight of each of her words and marvelled at her diction and the intonation of her voice.

'Pay attention to what is being said rather than who is saying it,' murmured Father Rene in his ear and he flushed deeply, embarrassed beyond words at being caught distracted for the first time in a long time. The abbot only had a knowing smile for him and he chose to busy himself for the rest of her speech by writing down every word in longhand instead of his usual shorthand to pass the time and not need to look up.

At the end of the last day before they were headed to the air-docks for the ship to take them back, he and the abbot were suddenly met with the Elven rulers. Mercedes led her contingent of subjects - even the King! - up to him and offered a slender, gloved hand.

It took a sideways glance before he realised that the hand was meant for him and not for the Father, who had suddenly put himself a comfortable distance away and was talking to one of the pilots. Swallowing a hard knot in his throat, Freud took the hand and remembered his manners in time, lifting it to his lips and offering a kiss by way of respect and greeting.

'It is an honor, my liege,' he said finally, after he'd lowered her hand and stared at her for a split second too long. 'May I enquire as to the purpose of this audience?'

'You cut straight to the chase, just as Abbot Rene does,' she mused. 'I merely wanted to thank you for your wise insights on our texts and enlightening the council on a more efficient process to construct a magical seal. Are you well-versed in magic?'

'Unfortunately not, your highness. Though the Black Mage's influence is growing by the day, the time isn't right for me to attempt.' Which was a lie, for Freud and the Abbot had practiced since he was thirteen, every night, under the moon when magic was supposed to be most easily channeled. Incessantly and without rest they had trained, Father Rene even lending Freud his most valuable staff to facilitate the process, but there wasn't even a spark or a wisp. The need for able-bodied magicians was more and more urgent, but it was well known and an unspoken agreement that the monks would only raise their magicians when they deemed fit.

The Elven princess lowered her icy blue eyes. Freud knew she felt sorry that he wasn't yet "ready" for magic, but couldn't correct her anyway. He had no reason to offer to offer by way of explanation. 'I apologise for being so intrusive. It was short-sighted of me to assume that a well-learned young human as yourself was still unable to use magic.'

'No offence is taken, your highness.'

'I have a feeling our paths will cross again, scholar.' She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her pointy ears and Freud was certain that if the conversation didn't draw to a close soon he'd be as red as the garnet pendant that framed her face so perfectly. 'I wish you luck and wisdom in your quest.'

'The same to you, my liege.' He bowed deeply as she turned and strode away.

He almost seemed to deflate as he made his way back to the Abbot's side. 'Spare me, I implore you,' he gasped at the outrightly grinning man. And not a word more was allowed to be said as Freud pulled out another book and began to read.

Such conferences grew more and more common as the terror of the Black Mage began to take its hold. News of towns falling to his influence became the norm rather than the exception. The number of deaths began to climb, killed by fanatics who wanted to make a point, and killed also by creatures that had suddenly turned wild to wreak havoc.

Freud busied himself through the next few years of his life, flying with Father Rene and the senior monks, discussing strategies, constructing seals, traps, barriers. He counselled those who were fraught and offered comfort to those who feared, making his mark in other ways since he could not contribute with magic. His name became as well-known as the Abbot's and his arrival in many towns was equally as anticipated. Freud, the kind and empathetic scholar who loved every man as his brother, and every woman as his sister. His reputation, a completely different one now, grew as fast as he did.

When he was almost twenty-one, and that night he remembered well, the Abbot came to his room. Father Rene had grey streaks through his otherwise jet black hair. Late nights had taken their tolls on both the Abbot and his young student, printing shadows beneath their eyes. And the worry had carved lines deeply into the man's forehead, making him look far older than he actually was. It was in the half-light that Freud finally felt the knowledge that the man was aging, and that he too was growing up.

'Good evening, Father Rene.'

What shocked Freud most was the topic of this conversation, at two in the morning, by the light of a dying candle.

'Remember that young Onyx dragon?' the Abbot asked quietly.

Freud almost was beside himself. In fury, in amusement, in horror, in exasperation. _Remember that young Onyx dragon?_ How could he forget? It was the reason why he was the Freud he was today, and the reason why that old, familiar ache surfaced to his mind.

But as always, with Father Rene's conversations, every sentence was a gun and every question was bait.

Did the Abbot finally know something new about the dragons?

'Yes, I remember,' he said cautiously.

Father Rene eased onto his bed with a sigh as all his weight sunk into the fabric. 'Word has finally come that the Onyx Dragons want to be involved in the war against the Black Mage.'

Freud's heart leaped. Finally there was an excuse to pay a visit to the dragons, and perhaps find his old friend. He wouldn't have imagined that the dragons would want to fight on their side, but they did, and for that he was pleasantly surprised.

'When are we leaving?' Freud stood up hurriedly, and as he did when he was younger, made the Abbot laugh at his eagerness.

'It's two in the morning, Freud,' he smiled. His eyes, which were now a cloudy grey instead of black, spoke of an inner weariness that he knew was caused by the concern over the Black Mage's influence. 'I don't think anyone, not even your dragon friend, will take kindly to seeing you in the dead of night.'

Freud sat down again, heart thumping. 'So can we leave tomorrow instead?'

'That would be a better time, yes. You will pack your things and take the first flight out to Orbis. I daresay the fairies there would be more than happy to point you in the right direction.'

He couldn't believe it. There was a chance that he was going to that old dragon forest in Leafre, to see his friend again. The very thought drove him fully awake and made him restless for morning to come.

'I understand. I will see you in the morning then, Father _Reen_?' Grinning widely, he felt the need to poke some fun at the old monk. He never tired of teasing the monk while he could, in this childish way - which was the only way he knew how. It was revenge enough for the Abbot always finding something to snub him with.

'I will be sleeping in,' the monk replied, stretching.

Freud's heart stopped. 'What?'

'I am too old to be travelling so far. The trips to the nearby continent of Orbis already tire me out and leave me too tired to concentrate. Let alone over the deserts of Ariant and to the lands of Leafre.'

Father Rene wanted to send him there alone? He would be speaking for the monastery, and as it was the whole of Mu Lung, the subcontinent that the monastery lead. Impossible. He knew that the abbot placed him in high standing but surely at the age of twenty he wasn't ready to decide the fate of the many people living in the area. And though he knew that one day the Abbot would have to retire from his diplomatic duties, he didn't think he'd be thrown into the deep end like this.

'But I can't go alone,' the young man protested. He was a child again, searching for an excuse despite himself, unsure if he could handle the responsibility that the Abbot had entrusted to him. 'What happens if I make the wrong decision? What happens if Leafre -'

The abbot held up a hand. 'I have utmost faith in you, Freud. Faith that hasn't been misplaced.'

Freud felt the protestations shrivel in his throat.

'I understand,' he murmured.

And Father Rene never looked more proud.

The next morning, Freud woke from a fitful sleep before the sun was up. The Abbot didn't sleep in like he said he would and was already halfway through his breakfast. Wordlessly and in quiet peace he joined the Father, and they finished their first meal before any of the other monks awoke. The abbot accompanied him back to his room, then to his own study, and then to the library, so Freud could choose the books which he felt would be needed for this journey. He left the main building of the monastery and walked down the cobbled path leading to the walls he tried to scale a long, long time ago, haversack in hand, more books slung over his shoulder, and the old Abbot by his side. He carried no money or rations to last him the journey. It was his first pilgrimage and he couldn't help but feel excited, and maybe a little apprehensive. As the wooden gates swung inwards, the two marvelled at the sight of the sun and its ember hues illuminating the pre-dawn sky.

The world lay before him. For the first time, Freud had second thoughts about leaping into the world he'd always wanted to explore alone. He fought the need to say something, anything, but nothing meaningful enough came to mind. He was about to be sent halfway across the world, he as one man, with only his books and knowledge for company, and it was his first time without the guidance or companionship of the old abbot. Just standing at the door he felt lonely already. Sure the Father would still be here when he returned but it wouldn't be the same travelling in his absence.

'You will do fine,' said the Abbot. Freud glanced sideways at him and was met with the even gaze of the man. It was the first time in his life that the Abbot had broken the silence first. This had been a long and comfortable silence that Freud had grown accustomed to in the Father's presence.

It meant a lot to him.

'Thank you,' he stuttered. Freud resisted the urge to run to the Abbot and scoop the man in a hug, just as friends did. He didn't know why he was getting so emotional, but the quiet trust of Father Rene spoke volumes and he had never been on the receiving end like this.

'Go in peace,' Father Rene ruffled the hair of his most beloved student and shooed him out the monastery. 'And when you return I will deal with you calling me _Reen _instead -'

'Instead of Father Re-Nay,' laughed Freud, wishing he had something better to offer the Abbot instead of mere words. 'May the stars shine on you.'

'And on you.'

Freud could see Father Rene watching him go until even the monastery itself was out of sight. The old man's words had lifted off an intense weight from his shoulders and now he walked with a new purpose, one which mirrored an old purpose he'd thought he'd forgotten. He walked for miles and miles, eating what the locals offered him - which was far more than what he could finish - watching the landscape change from cherry blossom trees to greener lands. He boarded a flying ship to Orbis and spent the night in a simple guest room of one of the fairies' houses, paying his board in stories and yarn to the her young children. After breakfast and a sincere thanks he was on another ship, heading to the dusty town of Ariant.

He read most of the way, marking his place in his book when the smell of dust permeated the cabin. The land below was all the same shade of mustard, sandy brown which stretched as far as he could see. Under a dull grey sky and a searing sun he alighted from the ship, feeling perspiration break out all over his skin once he disembarked. He wandered the streets and sought rest with one of the locals, then moved to look for herbs and grasses around the area so he could create a broth for his feverish son. He sat by the child's side through the night, feeding the delirious boy what he could, until dawn broke. Thankfully, the child's fever did too, and with a few more instructions to the family he bowed his thanks and travelled with a group of gypsies to the edge of the desert.

'Is very dangerous past this point,' said their chief, the words slanting into each other, the syllables slightly clipped, 'Take care, brother.'

'I will. You have my many thanks.'

His sandals offered little respite from the burning sands and he was immensely thankful that the chief had given him a canteen of water. But by the time he reached the edge of the Minar Forest of Leafre, the canteen had long gone dry and his throat was parched.

Trekking through the forest was a harder task than he expected. Before long he learned not to touch anything that looked waxy or plump with water lest he get burned with a potent concoction of sap, and to beware any path that was too laced with colorful and inviting flowers. When mid-afternoon rolled around Freud finally admitted that he was lost. The air now was dense with moisture and so humid that he couldn't stop perspiring, an abrupt change to the dry biting winds of the desert.

He hadn't read about the sap, but it didn't come as a surprise. Things sprung up as quickly as they faded away and there wasn't a scholar in the world who could keep up with such events no matter how hard one tried. The red succulent fruits hanging off the low branches tempted him in a way he never thought possible, but if the sap could make his skin itch like this, who knew what those fruits might do?

Exhausted, he decided to take a rest in the hollows of a giant tree. It was a huge mistake. Hundreds of little furry creatures that he didn't recognise flung themselves at him from the dense undergrowth, forcing him to his feet with a yelp as they clung to his clothes with their hooklike hairs. They bit and scratched with tiny little claws, too! Trying to peel them off him, he stumbled his way into a clearing.

And all the furry little critters scattered.

He looked down at his feet. Another huge mistake. He had stumbled into the nesting site of some creature, for there were eggs laid in threes, in perfect triangles, at selected spots in the clearing. Their bright blue shells gleamed in the sunlight, which would have been beautiful if he didn't know better. Any animal that didn't need to hide its offspring was more than capable of defending them.

And just as he was about to turn and run, a whirlwind of feathers and claws descended on him, driving him out of the clearing in the opposite direction. It was all blue feathers and glinting beaks, his vision completely lost as he ran blindly in whatever direction they were pushing him. He stumbled off a low cliff and landed with a thud below, scrambling to his feet lest the fluffballs besiege him again, finally managing to lose the birds when he scrambled under a fallen log, panting.

His clothes were all torn and he felt scratched everywhere. At least his books were alright, though. He'd hate to have anything lost to the birds... to be used as nesting material? It would merely be a waste of good literature.

When he got up, he realised that he had really run a long way. The forest had turned from the lush and bright green to a slightly more matted dark hue, the leaves wider and broader. Dew - and not sap! - caked many of the trunks and the small short grasses, and there was a fog rolling in from somewhere. In his blunders he didn't even realise that he had entered a completely different part of Minar Forest. No, maybe it wasn't even Minar Forest any longer, but a whole other area.

Before long he came to a pool and drank deeply from it, finally able to quench his nagging thirst. He washed the cuts as best as he could and stood up, hungry but ready to walk on... to get more lost. He laughed at his misfortune.

That was when he saw the eyes.

So many pairs of eyes. His heart leaped. They were golden, soul-searching, all-seeing eyes, glinting in the foggy half-light of the forest.

The eyes of Onyx Dragons.

He lowered his haversack and raised his hands to show that he was unarmed. 'I come in peace,' he began, heart pounding and mind racing for the best words to use before they grew impatient. 'My name is Freud, hailing from the subcontinent of Mu Lung. I humbly request an audience with your King.'

There was no reply, not even a thought to grace his mind. He waited patiently, knowing that the dragons could understand his intentions if they could not understand his words. If he wasn't welcome he would simply offer them peace and then leave.

_We will bring you there_.

Having clear words occur in his mind was more of a shock than he expected. He had only ever experienced the impressions that the little Onyx dragon had given him, a long time ago, and those were nowhere close to words. Freud the diplomat nodded in response as a dark slender form appeared and beckoned him forward with its wing. He followed without another word.

He walked some more... he was so glad he was used to the walking. As per the culture of the monks, they had to travel by foot, only taking transport if they were offered passage or if it was absolutely necessary. Years of walking made him strong enough withstand these long distances.

Finally, they came to another clearing. In the middle stood the biggest dragon he had ever dreamed of seeing. He was a young boy again, unable to stop his jaw from dropping, in the presence of such an overwhelming aura and such a gigantic dragon. It was indeed as black as an Onyx gemstone. Immediately his eyes were drawn to its golden ones, which were further emphasized by the huge ridged horns sprouting from the top of its head.

His little dragon friend was puny in comparison. _He _himself was puny in comparison.

_Greetings, Freud, _rumbled the King, when Freud forgot to speak. _We have heard of your coming. _

Feeling immensely foolish, he dropped to one knee. 'It is an honor to be granted this audience, your majesty. How may I address you, sire?'

The dragon nodded, eyes glinting in the half-light. _You may call me Afrien. On your feet. I assume you are here to discuss our alliance with your movement against the Black Mage?_

'Yes, I am. I hail from the subcontinent of Mu Lung and am under the tutelage of Abbot Rene. He is not physically able to be here and hence has sent me in his stead, King Afrien.'

The dragon regarded him emotionlessly for a long time. Freud blinked, for he was surprised that this silence made him uncomfortable even after being subject to the Abbot's methods for so many years of his life. It was the way the dragon looked at him, in a way no human could, reading him like a book, every single page, with a single glance.

_I am amused, young Freud._

Freud looked beseechingly at the dragon, who was definitely smiling now. There was a twinkle in his eyes and the edges of his mouth were definitely twitched up in a slight grin.

When the dragon did not elaborate, he spoke up. 'As to what, your majesty?'

King Afrien rumbled, the low noise reverberating around the glade and in his skull. _You have finally decided to call him Re-Nay instead of Reen._

Freud gaped.

_It has been far too long._


	3. Act Three - The Son

Father Rene would have his head when he heard that Freud had flung himself with abandon at the great dragon, only to be lifted up and cradled like a small toy in its huge arms. He was simply so overjoyed in seeing the Onyx dragon - _his _Onyx dragon, in some weird way - all grown up, and the King of his race! Afrien's subjects watched with slight smiles as he went out of his mind, trying to press himself into the dragon where he could, and with Afrien trying to return in kind but mindful of his claws. It was a very amusing sight, one which Freud wagered they would never see. A bedraggled monk in tattered clothes trying to hug the most majestic black dragon in all of Leafre.

When Freud had calmed down Afrien brought him to their clearing, and let him sit on his shoulder as he showed Freud the feeding ground, the nesting site, the rest area. He explained that a storm had blown him violently off course when he tried to fly before he was ready, and that he had landed too far north and into the ocean, where he'd smuggled himself into a boat and ended up in Mu Lung. He wasn't sure how he'd broken his leg but he was glad he was at the monastery when it happened.

Freud couldn't agree more.

He spent the next few hours sharing what he had gone through and how he had changed from an absolute terror to a great scholar rival to only the Abbot. He brushed it away best as he could when Afrien fawned over his knowledge, and then fawned even more when Freud could summarise all he knew about the Onyx dragons down to the minutiae nobody else but the dragons would know.

_I'm sorry that we don't have any clothes you could change into, _Afrien said to him once he was done, and had eaten his fill of the berries and fruits that the dragons had brought back for him. _We haven't had a human visitor before._

'There has never been a need after all,' laughed Freud. He noticed that as the day wore on, the King slipped from formal speech to colloquial language. It gave him great honour that he had taken care of the prince, and now was friends with the king of the race.

When Afrien later learned that he was unable to conduct magic, his face fell. _I'm very shocked, to say the least. Humans with such mental strength as yours should be able to do magic with ease. And if you were a mage you'd easily be the strongest of your kind._

Freud smiled nervously. He never knew what to do with compliments. 'Probably not...'

_You're too modest. _Afrien laughed, the chuckling rhythm still the same as when he was little. _I have a suggestion, though._

'To what? To do something about my non-existent ego?' Freud grinned at his friend, who shook his head as if disappointed that he guessed wrongly.

_No. To help you with your magic._

Moments later Freud had his books out and he was scanning them eagerly. The great King had suggested something like a connection, a pact, a contract between the two of them, that would bring their spirits closer and lend some of his powers to him. _It's an old art practiced by the magi many generations ago, _Afrien explained, as he led Freud to a brighter part of the forest to read more comfortably. _It has never been successfully conducted between a dragon and a human, though, but we could try._

'Wouldn't you lose some of your powers if you gave some to me?' Freud protested, but the dragon merely prodded him on with a claw.

_Not at all_, Afrien grinned. _I have soooo much to spare anyway._

Freud shook his head in mock shame at the dragon's retort. 'I don't know why I know you.'

_Because you need me, _Afrien grinned even wider. _And because you love me._

'You're hardly fit to be a king with that ego!' he gasped, but didn't deny the fact.

_I need to inform you at this point that all my subjects think otherwise._

'And I need to inform you that every King would do well in listening to a voice of opposition.'

The next few days were spent on a cliff that rose abruptly out of the forest. Dragons brought them food as he poured over his readings and pressed Afrien for details on the binding spell. The King communicated telepathically with the elders back in the nest and they did their best to answer Freud's incessant questions. As he and Afrien talked, Freud was more and more reminded of the little critter that had arrived in his room some ten odd years ago. Especially with Afrien's easy-going attitude, which was more suited for a young dragon than a Dragon King in his prime. But if he listened in to Afrien's thoughts when he was talking to the other dragons, he would always speak formally, with all trace of that horrific ego vanished as if it was never there.

Every one of the seventeen books he had on hand was relevant in some way. He wondered of the odds that his intuition had driven him to choose such a select range of books, but it did, and those books served him well. He learned about binding spells, of attempts to bind souls together, about connecting a mind with another to share thoughts and emotions.

He and Afrien had already got the last point covered. Afrien's feelings were bared to him, and the dragon's feelings were his own, perhaps in a more muted form, but his nonetheless. Perhaps now the last thing would be to find a way to strengthen that connection and allow the dragon's powers to be shared between them both.

After one week of sleeping under the starry skies of Leafre, with the dragon blocking out most of the wind, kept warm by Afrien's powerful aura, Freud was stiff all over. The dragon sensed his awakening and got up to stretch and yawn.

So many more teeth, Freud marvelled.

Today was the day he would abandon everything he had learnt - or tried to learn over the past few days. The last few days were fruitless and no matter what he tried, he wasn't able to form anything with the dragon and didn't feel any difference. So today, he would try something new.

He revised the words with Afrien. They had to speak the words in perfect unison for it to work, and for that he had spent the entire week studying the intonation of Afrien's speech so he could keep pace with his rhythm more easily. It was a long and convoluted spell. Freud wasn't sure he could get through without stumbling but he had to.

It wasn't because of his desire to do magic. He and Afrien both knew it, but never said it out loud. They each knew that the other knew. It was more of an inherent need to connect to each other, emotionally, physically and spiritually. The only way Freud could reason this out was by the way the dragon made him complete. He remembered the aching void inside of him in the many years that the dragon was apart from him, the way it ate him up from the inside, leaving an empty shell. Contrast that with the feeling of fulfilment he had now, and he could safely say that Afrien had already taken a large chunk of his heart and, not to be poetic, but his soul as well.

A spirit pact would simply ease some of that emptiness, right?

All through the day they practiced, Afrien stumbling a few times but Freud even more. So wrought he was with the stress of failure that he couldn't think straight and lost concentration. It was unlike him, really, to be so affected by something he would otherwise do easily. They broke practice for lunch before continuing, but as the afternoon wore on it became apparent that Freud was in no shape to conduct the spell.

When dinnertime rolled around and the food arrived, Afrien was the one who stopped first. _Freud. Let's not practice any more. You're going to burn out even before the night comes._

Though Freud knew the dragon was right, he was loathe to. 'I can't. I won't. This is -'

_Too much for you. _The dragon huffed, blowing a tendril of blue smoke into the air. _I refuse to go on._

Freud slumped to his feet. 'Fine. And what do we do for the rest of the evening?'

Afrien smiled. _I will take care of that._

The sun cast its dying rays across a cloudless canvas as Afrien began to talk. It was finally his turn to share with Freud everything that he had learned in his time. The scholar leaned in the nook of the dragon's arm as the tales began to unfold. He spoke of a race of half-human half-animal, who called themselves the Halflings, who reared the eggs of endangered dragons and helped to insulate them or cool them as they needed. He spoke of oceans so vast that it could contain fish the size of small houses and dark skeletal forms that combed the sea floor. He spoke of the three headed behemoth they called the Horntail which commanded an army of wyverns and slimy lizards. And most of all he spoke of the things he saw on his flight back, the way the people in the towns and villages shared their food, and how some ran at him with rakes, and how some fed him more food than he could eat in two days.

By the time Afrien decided to draw his tales to a close, a thin waning moon had already appeared on the horizon, accompanied by stars that sparkled like diamonds. The dragon smiled softly at the small form that nestled beside him. Freud had been lulled into a light slumber by the rhythmic gait of his words and was breathing softly, all signs of stress gone from his face. Given how he had worked himself with a frenzied enthusiasm to find a way to seal the spirit pact, staying awake long past moonrise, and waking at the crack of dawn, the exhaustion was finally showing.

When Freud snapped awake, Afrien was watching him with one golden eye. He jerked upright. 'What time is it!'

_Midnight. At the peak of moonrise._

Freud could slap himself. He had never ever allowed himself to fall asleep on an important assignment and yet here he was wasting the night away when they should be trying the spell once the moon had risen!

'Why didn't you wake me?'

_Because you were tired, but now that you have rested for awhile I'll attempt the spell with you._

'We don't have much time left -'

_Now is the perfect time. Besides, the moon is at its zenith now. If the spell fails, we'll know it's impossible. _Afrien stretched, catlike, and got to his feet.

With all the talk about impossibility, Afrien was awfully calm.

They stood face to face, Freud in position, his feet slightly apart, right hand extended to channel the energy better. The incantation called for the magician to carry a staff but he didn't have the luxury of one. He'd just have to hope that Afrien's mental prowess would make up for his shortcomings. Afrien crouched on the ground before him, his huge muzzle just a short distance away, wings slightly spread but not blocking any of the moonlight from reaching Freud.

Then they began. The words were foreign on his tongue but they came more easily now, far easier than they had come in the afternoon. He would have to thank Afrien later. In fact Afrien himself wasn't finding trouble with the words at all, and Freud was able to predict Afrien's diction perfectly now. He'd listened to the dragon speak the entire evening and knew now when the dragon would pause or when he would speed up.

But the incantation was definitely working. A glance at Afrien confirmed this, the way Afrien's eyes and horns were glowing sunfire yellow, just as the stripes on the ridges down his back were shining with sheer intensity of power. And Freud felt _amazing,_ as if some long-dormant force was finally awakening and was bubbling inside him, threatening to overflow. And when it finally did, an intense rush of adrenaline took him and flowed down his arm.

Afrien lowered his head and touched Freud's palm.

With a flare of light that shone brighter than any fire, a streak of brilliant gold emblazoned itself on the dark scales. And then pain, unbearable pain. Freud almost broke concentration but forced himself to continue on, the back of his palm burning with a searing heat. The twisted expression on Afrien's features confirmed that he was feeling the same blinding pain.

The curving horn of a dragon appeared, its neck arching upwards and then down, like the deliberate stroke of a calligrapher's brush. It ended in a proud coil, before two marks like curving wings appeared, to complete the symbol: a dragon coiling in a perfectly circular insignia.

And it was done.

They both fell to the ground, Afrien clutching tenderly at his head and Freud prodding gingerly at the skin on his palm. It was like a burn mark rather than a tattoo, while Afrien's was like the coloration of his scales.

Before Freud had even recovered from the shock, Afrien was on his feet, shouting excitedly. _Try something! A spell! Any spell! Hurry!_

Lying on his back, Freud lifted his right hand and chanted something simple. An illumination spell. The words flowed, familiar after years of practice... but what was different was the feeling of that immense new spring, welling up inside him, and erupting from his fingers as a single concentrated ball of light.

It had worked. He lowered his shaking hand, and began to laugh. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes and Afrien became concerned that Freud had finally lost his marbles.

'I can't believe it,' he whispered.

_Neither can I, _replied Afrien eagerly, after he was sure that Freud was sane and wasn't about to go wild on him. _And I can finally call you Master._

Freud stopped laughing. 'Call who what now?'

_As per the conditions of the spirit pact, you have finally become my Master, _grinned Afrien, rolling easily onto his back and stretching.

'You didn't tell me this,' shouted Freud in alarm as he leaped to his feet. 'How can you call me Master? You're my friend! I can't be your Master!'

_A Master can be a friend as well, Freud._

'But I don't even call old _Reen_, the one who taught me _everything_ I know, Master!'

_It's Re-Nay, not Reen,_ corrected Afrien sternly as he stared at Freud upside down, _And too bad. The pact is done and you're going to have to live with me being extra polite, Master._

Freud could only throw his hands in the air in frustration.

Following the news of the spirit pact Freud was hard put to convince the other dragons not to call him Master as well. That was an honorary that he would only allow Afrien to use, but all the other dragons somehow saw it fit to bow to him as he passed. These Onyx dragons were too polite for their good. And besides, Freud found it extremely disconcerting that such huge and majestic creatures were bowing to him, a fangless, toothless human.

According to Afrien he had never seen or heard of a more adept magician. Freud could, apparently, cast complex spells, layers upon layers. From the cliff they revisited, he and Afrien could darken the clouds and call down horrific thunderstorms with the rain and gales and lightning. They could create beams of holy light that illuminated everything in their paths. They could cause the earth to shift and buckle with blazing ferocity.

_All thanks to you, _said Afrien days later, after they'd perfected another spell, a healing spell that could mend broken bones. _I could never do this on my own._

Again Freud flustered for a reply. 'And without you I'd be just an ordinary human. No magic at all.'

_It's true then... that we both need each other. _The dragon curled tightly around Freud, remembering this time not to lick the tiny human before him. The last time he'd done that Freud had to go wash himself in a lake nearby.

'Yes. That we definitely do.'

They discussed Freud's departure at length. It was imperative that Father Rene knew of his progress with the dragons, and the alliance. He had far overstayed his welcome and was three days behind schedule for his return home. Everyone would be waiting for his news - news that there was one more ally in the fight. It hadn't completely slipped his mind but had nestled into a dusty little corner, conveniently out of sight. Only after word spread that the Black Mage had finally cast his reach on the lands of Leafre did Freud remember fully what he was meant to do.

Afrien was completely averse to him leaving. The dragon needed to defend his people and he was nothing without his spirit partner. Freud cursed himself for agreeing to the pact before he considered the full implications of his action. He should have seen it coming, the way Afrien's subjects seemed overjoyed whenever he returned from his training, the way they fussed over each and every scratch, and the way they hounded him on the new sigil on his head. _I will always be your King, _he had laughed and replied in formal speech. _Nothing has changed, except the fact that I share powers with this small human called Freud._

It was only with great hesitation that Freud and Afrien came to a compromise. They would leave for Mu Lung that evening, to fly under cover of the moon so they could fly past the cities and towns with less chance of being detected. They would travel straight to the monastery, where Freud would deliver his news and stay a few days, before they would fly back. _I'm used to flying long distances,_ Afrien assured him. _I don't mind flying to and fro every few weeks... and you can't read while up in those gusts so I get to talk to you all the way._

Freud managed to squeeze in a visit to the town of Leafre on the night before his departure. He needed to collect some herbs and old texts to bring back for the Abbot, and some of the fruit concoctions that the Halflings were so famous for. Afrien dropped him off a distance away so as not to frighten the locals, and promised to be back in the morning.

After getting the necessary materials, he made his way to the Halfling chieftain's residence, where he was given a simple supper that tasted nothing like how it looked. He was offered a change of clothes, and in return he shared his findings of the spirit pact to the astounded Halfling, and requested some relevant texts on the dragons in the area. The chief was happy to comply and left the scholar contentedly reading by candlelight until it descended. Putrid, sickly, heart-chilling evil.

Afrien's worry instantly hit him like a stone to the head. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The intensity of the emotions overwhelmed him and made his blood turn to ice. And this evil, this blanketing, suffocating evil, running in his mind like an oil slick.

He hurried to the door. No sign of Afrien, though the originally clear skies were clouded over with dark stormclouds. These was no ordinary storm, but similar to the ones that he and Afrien had conjured, manifestations of a powerful energy. He knew it long ago but it was only after hearing the wailing of infant Halflings, and the nervous sounds of perturbed wildlife, did he dare to admit it.

'Tell your people to hide somewhere safe,' he warned as he shook the chieftain awake. 'Hurry.'

They busied themselves shepherding the elderly and the young to the chieftain's house, and those with weapons stood at the ready. Freud reasoned with the distraught elderly, persuading them that nothing was yet wrong, and joked with the youngest of the Halflings to ease the tension. But every Halfling knew better and could feel the suffocating evil though they knew not what it was.

The sky began to rumble. When he was sure that everyone was accounted for Freud borrowed a staff from one of the magi and began. It was the first time he had ever attempted a spell without Afrien by his side to lend him power, but his companion was right. Now that the spirit pact had unlocked his ability to channel magic, his skills were more than adequate to control the detailed spells that others would find difficult. He was in the midst of the barrier spell when he heard, through the crying and worried murmurs, Afrien's distraught voice.

_The Black Mage is here._

He sensed the dragon's approach but he was still a distance away. Not allowing his concentration to sway he tidied up the loose ends of the spell and managed to erect a dully gleaming shell around the middle of the town.

'Don't worry,' was all he gave in reply to the frantic group of Halflings, before he ran to the edge of town, towards the evil aura.

Afrien appeared in the canopy and with huge gusts from his beating wings, landed just long enough for Freud to clamber onto his arm. They leaped to the air. Afrien's anguish again surged through him like the tide, and nothing needed to be said. Freud felt more than saw the memories in his mind, Afrien's memories - shadows surrounding the nest site, gleaming claws and fangs, flashes of dark magic.

And he saw the Black Mage, oozing evil and malevolence, as he stated his terms for peace. Through Afrien's eyes he saw the Black Mage gesture at the dragons, who lay helpless at the claws of an overwhelming horde of evil demons, and offer to release them in exchange for Afrien's loyalty and power. The Black Mage laughed at the dragon's decision to bind his spirit to Freud - a mere human! he had jeered - and to that he heard as much as felt the King's indignation.

_Never on my life will I renounce my loyalty to Freud, and even if I could, you will never understand the source of our power. _

Clutching the staff with whitened knuckles Freud took all of Afrien's wordless rage and channeled it into his magic, sending the two of them leaping in and out of the dimension, teleporting across the skies over Minar Forest and into Onyx dragon territory. The dragon's loyalty moved him close to tears, and in the face of such blinding evil it meant everything to Freud the way they were bound to each other. Freud could have asked for nothing more. They appeared just over the last swarm of ghostly shadows, and Afrien descended with such a blinding fury that Freud almost reeled from the ferocity of his anger.

The King, armed with his fighting companion, had returned. But they were too late.

The prone forms of Onyx dragons lay scattered across the glade, unmoving. Thunder crashed again overhead as Afrien let out the loudest roar Freud had ever heard, with such unmistakable undertones of despair that it shook the treetops and sent leaves rustling to the ground. Bolts of purple lightning tore themselves from the sky, the culmination of his agony, striking the spectres and disintegrating them where they stood, sparking fires where they hit the undergrowth and the canopy of the trees. With a maniacal furor the dragon teleported through the trees, sinking wicked fangs into what he could catch, breathing concentrated fire at those he saw fleeing. Such was King's rage, the darkness, fire and lightning, which burned his foes and trapped whatever henchmen had not already fled.

Freud had leaped from the dragon and landed on fours, teleporting from body to body, sorrow inside him to see the majestic dragons slaughtered in such cold blood. He prayed for one more living dragon, but the putrid aura that surrounded them all spoke testament to the Black Mage's magic. Irreversible, unhealable. And he knew better. Still clinging to that slim chance of hope he combed the clearing, checking every form for a breath or a pulse. Azure blue hatchlings curled up in death throes beside their midnight black guardians. Inky black dragons and their dulled yellow eyes, clouded over in death. All their jaws parted slightly when they exhumed their last breaths to swear loyalty to their King.

When the rain came it came in a torrent. The skies cleared of evil magic, replaced with the purity that was nature. The heavens over Minar Forest of Leafre wept for the loss of a great race, one that had ruled for eras upon eras, keeping a powerful balance of peace and harmony. Rain trickled down the leaves, putting out the crackling fires, running down the ridged scales along Afrien's flank as he cradled the head of a female dragon in his arms. Freud, standing with a comforting hand on Afrien's scales, watched in sorrow as the great King mourned the loss of his Queen, one whom had ruled with him in justice and love. In his other hand, a single sky-blue egg sat in the nook of his elbow, the final surviving young that Afrien had barely managed to defend. His son, oblivious and ignorant to the tragedy that had just unfolded, curled up in blissful slumber, dreaming blissful dreams within the marble shell, to wake up a time long later, in an age where hopefully saw no more evil, no more war.

The King said nothing after enquiring as to his companion's safety. He had gone into a cold, intensely focused inner whirlwind of rage and sorrow, one that Freud could feel as clearly as daylight. Even as he mourned he mourned in silence, for the Onyx dragons had never needed words and never would, for the simplicity of their emotions needed no explanation. In the face of such overwhelming grief Freud felt faint, and regretted that he couldn't do anything to assuage the King's heart.

In a way he felt guilty for his actions. If he hadn't visited the town of Leafre as he did that night, he would have been with the dragons to aid as a fighting force as the Black Mage made his arrival. He would have been able to tap on their shared powers and drive them away, and this massacre would not have happened, this immense loss avoided in its entirety.

_It is not your fault, _murmured the King, turning to fix him with one weary eye. The sincerity of the dragon's words despite his inner turmoil pulled Freud from the labyrinth of What Ifs and If Onlys in his mind.

Freud remained silent.

_I do not blame you, _the tired King continued, _for you would not have predicted _his _coming. Neither did I. If I knew better I would have requested for you to stay. I do not blame you, Freud, and I speak for the rest of my race when I say they hold no grudge against you either. You are a friend to them as much as a friend to me. They love you as much as they love me. _

The King breathed out shakily and lowered his queen's body to the ground.

'I'm sorry,' said Freud, for he had nothing else to offer.

Afrien gave himself a few minutes more to offer silent thanks to each and every dragon, and he visited each body one by one, offering his blessing to their spirits, giving a kind word to their unhearing forms. Freud watched the King murmur his heartfelt wishes to the tiniest of hatchlings, and the oldest of dragons, suddenly aware of the greatness of Afrien's love. He loved every one of his subjects like his own family, and despite the hierarchy he knew they lived by, he treated every dragon as his equal, discriminating not in age nor size. He marvelled at the King's magnanimity and wondered if he would see any king who ruled as well as the dragon did.

_Pack your things, _Afrien said once he was done. _We're going to leave._

Freud was taken aback. It hadn't even been half an hour after they'd arrived and already Afrien was ready to leave? Surely he hadn't gotten the closure he deserved. And the dragons deserved a burial, at least.

Afrien nudged him in the direction of his books. Freud didn't resist the prodding claws. The dragon had slipped back into his informal speech again, speaking to a friend, and not a loyal subject. Not as a King. _We've always believed in letting nature take its intended course. An honorable death requires no burial. And I've gotten all the closure I need._

It hit him before Afrien said the words. Why he was so eager to leave.

_The Black Mage referred to you by name. And since he could not take our powers then he will punish everything we hold dear._

They took to the skies for the second time that night, leaving the pain and carnage behind, Afrien away from his home and Freud towards his. Never before had be been overcome by so many negative emotions in such a short period of time. First that sorrow, then regret, guilt, and now worry, anxiety, and the sick feeling that somehow they would again be too late.

_Don't worry, _said Afrien, and Freud promised that he would not, but they both knew it was hard not to.

They flew straight through the night, Afrien opting to fly directly over towns and villages to make use of the thermals to give him lift as he flew. He refused Freud's offer to teleport for the way was so long, and besides Freud would need to recover from the strain of using so much magic earlier. They flew through the storm that still raged, fearless of the lightning and the crashing rumbles overhead.

Freud clutched Afrien's neck as they flew, nestling in the small of his back between his shoulder blades. He had fastened a quick belt around his waist and around Afrien's shoulders, to the dragon wouldn't have to fear losing his comrade on the way back. He could hear the dragon's deep and heavy breaths as they soared through the rainy heavens, the landscape below them a mere blur of darkness, hidden by the pouring rain. The air cleared of the sandy smell of the desert and gave way to the sweet scent of flowers and leaves.

Through his soaked fringe and the curtain of rain, he could make out the muted pink of cherry blossoms.

He was almost home.

What was different was that the evil they had encountered in Leafre hadn't really left them. It seemed to have enveloped the entire land, and the oily feeling in Freud's mind showed that it was present in Mu Lung as well. Coming closer Afrien pointed out charred rooftops, their fires extinguished by the rain, leaving behind blackened skeletal remains of banisters. The wind whistling in Freud's ears made it hard to hear anything, so he wasn't sure if he'd heard the sound of crying as they passed village after village. The Black Mage had been here. And he had left his mark in the cinders that used to be the sakura trees, some still with their flowers, but most burned to naught. The collapsed houses, the smell of blood, and that evil presence.

The monastery rose up on the horizon. Afrien landed on the outside and lifted Freud over the walls. Mind numb from all the anxiety, he ran past the koi pond, past the wrecked gates and its blockade, to shimmy up the pipe he used to climb as a kid, jump across two windowsills, and back into his room. Dripping wet, he sprinted down the corridors, towards the main hall.

The wooden doors offered little resistance as he flung them open. Monks, in tattered habits, with slings around their arms, bruised, bloodied, battered. Men and young boys, lying prone on beds and stretchers, some in convulsive twitches, some past the point of movement, some already having breathed their last. Other villagers, whose heart had gone out to the ruined monastery, accompanied those who were sick, healing them with whatever supplies they had. He felt the breath catch in his throat as the monks stopped talking, stopped mourning, and stood to acknowledge his arrival.

At the far end of the main hall, at the pulpit, lay a still and unmoving body. The monk lying there did not bear any physical injury, instead Freud could feel the evil hovering about him, again evidence of the Black Mage's magic. And it had taken the man in one breath.

One imperceptible thought rang in his mind, and he moved unfeelingly to obey. His feet dragged as he took one step, and then another, and another, passing by monks with bowed heads and teary eyes.

_No_.

Again, he had been too late. His heart slowed and he found himself fighting to get closer to the pulpit, which seemed suddenly so unbearably far.

_No, no._

He had seen the world in his travels. He had good news. He had found his friend. He had formed the spirit pact which others found impossible. He had so much to share.

_No. Please, no._

He had come full circle. Here was the bully Freud, growing up and into a scholar, into a diplomat, and finally into the honored representative of the Monastery led by one man.

A man who lay quietly in death at the pulpit.

Father Rene looked younger than he had looked for a long time. By the candlelight, he noticed that the worry lines were eased off his face and if Freud didn't know better he'd simply think the man was asleep, dreaming some beautiful, sweet dream. If the Father looked constantly at peace before, he now looked to have achieved an even higher tranquility, in which he had obtained complete and utter nirvana. In some way wasn't that what all the monks strove to achieve - that spiritual transcendence into enlightenment and their own personal utopia?

In all his years Freud never once imagined that the abbot would look even calmer in death than in life. If anything he'd expect the father to look the same. The stately way that the Abbot had always gone about his business, and the expression of understanding always led him to believe that he had no more qualms about anything. It was something that he had always envied, but the Abbot had indeed taught him how to quell the raging in his heart, if not completely, then to a somewhat manageable torrent. And while Freud's inner peace seemed to him like a still puddle, the Abbot's was already an ocean, with the calm undercurrents and undisturbed surface.

Silence was the Father's legacy when he was alive and he would take it unto his death.

Freud stared down quietly at the old abbot, who looked like he was about to uncover the meaning of some deep and undiscovered truth, whispering so softly that only a pair of ears as sharp as the old man's could hear it - 'You haven't dealt with that time when I called you _Reen_, Father.'

When he sank to his knees before the pulpit, dry eyed and head bowed, even the oldest of monks began to tear, and the villagers cried openly. Father Rene, the old abbot who had taken everyone's heart, had passed in the name of all that was good. And Freud, his most loved student, with such terrible grief that he was finally unable to conceal it, looked to them all like the abbot's young son. To come home to his father's side and accompany the man in death as he moved from one world to the next.

Freud the bully, the scholar, the role model, the diplomat, the dragon master, the Abbot's own son. The prodigal son, one who had lost his way when he was younger, only to find his feet again with the help of his father, and achieve such heights that were once thought unattainable by man. The prodigal son who had learned, only because of the old Abbot, to learn the love for knowledge, and to love every person he came across, just as Father Rene had once loved him.

And so Freud mourned, and Afrien mourned with him in the spirit pact, sharing his pain, for the two had seen so much in their lives already. The villagers and the monks too mourned with him, through the night, until the rain finally ceased to a drizzle and a pallid light leaked through the clouds.

By that time Freud and Afrien had already moved to heal most of the townspeople's wounds, and were in the midst of helping them reconstruct the town. Freud took his cue from Afrien and waved away their offers of giving more time for closure, and said that he had gotten all that he needed. Again he counselled while Afrien played with the traumatised children, until a shaky calm had settled over the village.

They still saw him as their leader in the abbot's stead. Despite the emptiness in his eyes and the way his smile wasn't as bright, he was their light at the end of their tunnel, still the shining beacon of hope that he had always been. After all, he was the greatest testament to the Abbot's quiet strength, in having turned such a monstrosity into the calm and dignified young man he was today. He was evidence that the Abbot's influence would live on, if not physically then within him, and in all that he did. Freud understood all this and patiently listened while they cried over how good a man the abbot was, and how he shouldn't have passed away like this.

'He died an honorable death,' they always said, through handkerchiefs and tears, to which Freud would only nod.

He did not need words.

Before afternoon came, they were gone. He could not bear to attend the man's burial, and suddenly Afrien's words made sense - _an honorable death needs no burial_. Such an act would merely be a formality.

But while he did not need words, and he was certain the Father didn't either, the rest of his world did. Before he left, he'd written a eulogy at the elders' request, for while he had already gotten his closure, the villagers had not yet gotten theirs. With words that he felt were far inadequate, he tried as best as he could to give them what they would need for closure, writing in generous detail his heartfelt appreciation for the deceased monk. He wrote of the abbot's deep understanding of the world and of human nature, and while he was always busy he had time for the young, messed up boy he had been in the past. And finally, he assured them that while the abbot was gone, everyone could learn a little something or two from him, and live their lives to the fullest as he did.

_You have a way with words,_ Afrien mused as he concluded the last sentence of the eulogy.

'Words are never enough,' he replied simply.

Half an afternoon later he had already visited three other villages. News about the abbot's death and the Black Mage had already spread so far, like wildfire in dry prairies. The Black Mage, in his reign of terror and outright visible actions, had succeeded in striking fear into the world. Freud and Afrien found renewed purpose in travelling from town to town, Freud again helping to untangle the rumours and assure them that everything was going to be alright. Word was that an alliance had been forming and while people were taking up arms, Freud usually had to convince them to stay and defend their village instead of trooping out into the unknown without training or preparation. He saw no more need to bring books on his travels, and though his thirst for knowledge was still insatiable, he had found his own personal peace, and his own personal nirvana, in the companionship that was Afrien. For that, he was immensely glad and was also grateful that the dragon could feel it.

In the times when they were alone Freud and Afrien would visit the highest vantage point they could find - on spires, cliffs, or mountains - and wordlessly watch the moonrise together. Silence was one of the legacies that the old Father had passed down to Freud, and he finally saw its value. He and Afrien shared their grievances without needing to say a thing. These quiet moments would often find Afrien curled up around Freud, both wrecked with intense emotional anguish, pining over the loss of their loved ones, and each over the other's. Without Afrien, Freud knew that he would have snapped there and then at the pulpit, and would probably never have been the same again. But he had the Onyx dragon now, as the Onyx dragon had him, and that made all the difference. They did not shed tears and Freud learned not to blame himself any longer, as such thoughts were only thoughts and meant little in the way of fate.

And somehow, this all was enough for him.


	4. Act Four - The Dragon Master

One day in the midst of their travels, they were approached by a strange, feathered creature. It was bulky and slightly taller than him, with an elongated muzzle and feathers coating its arms and legs.

'Might you be Freud the dragon master?' he said, with a strange accent that Freud had never once encountered before.

He was quite taken aback, for usually people addressed him as Freud the scholar, or Freud the monk. His achievements of the spirit pact he had kept quiet, as there had never been a need to explain to others the intricacy of the bond he had with Afrien. The dragon had agreed, opting instead to call each other _friend_ instead.

'I am,' he said, surprised even more when the creature bowed deeply in response.

'My name is Kiriku, and I am sent by Empress Aria. Her Majesty is heading an alliance to rise up against the Black Mage, and has invited you to fight by her side.'

He and Afrien shared a glance. Empress Aria was a wise and brave ruler. Freud respected her for what she had done so far, especially with her relief efforts to the towns affected. But as to the alliance, while rumours about it flew fast and furious, he never believed that the Empress was at its head until now.

'I am honored, sir knight,' Freud bowed. Like always, he wasn't sure what to do when presented with such prestigious opportunities. 'Afrien and I humbly accept her offer.'

'Then it is settled. We already have a ship ready for you...' the creature glanced at the huge Onyx dragon that was resting by Freud's side.

_I will fly behind you, Sir Kiriku_, smiled Afrien.

They flew for the remainder of the afternoon, taking winds that Afrien didn't know and in a direction that Freud had always thought held no more land. They flew over oceans and so many lands, and he was sure he saw the subcontinent of Mu Lung as he passed. Then they flew up, so high that Afrien remarked that if they went any higher there wouldn't be air left to fly in.

Finally, through the clouds he made out a land so unimaginably serene. Rivers sparkled with crystal clear water and the grass looked so green he would think it was maintained. Wide open fields were laced with simple dirt pathways, a simple harmony of man and nature.

'Welcome, dragon master, to the land of Ereve.'

Kiriku led him down a pathway as Afrien landed in the middle of one of these fields, and Freud followed behind him, the egg nestled comfortably in his haversack. They passed by ornately carved patios, and raised stages not unlike one used to make speeches, but to whom? There wasn't another man or creature in sight, save the occasional fluffy creature darting amidst the bushes.

There would be time to ask about all this later.

Before long a grand building came into view, made completely of white marble and emblazoned with gold. Kiriku ushered him into the building and gave directions to Afrien to make his way to the top, where the conference with the Empress was held. As the dragon made his ascent another feathery creature, this time a female, fussed over him and his simple monastery habit, which was stained and torn in places from his travels.

'We can't have you looking like this, can we?' she fretted, pulling him into the room with a firm grip around his wrist despite his protestations. 'Come along now, the Empress has prepared something more befitting of your stature.'

Freud relented only when he realised it would only be polite to wear what Empress Aria had already prepared for him, and slipped into the changing room, where he saw a square of folded fabric. It was blood red.

The color of sacrifice, he thought to himself.

'We heard tales of a raggedy young monk with immense knowledge and an even more massive dragon in his wake, and the Empress simply insisted to bring you here,' said the assistant, as Freud lifted the thick, sturdy fabric. It felt very expensive, and the edges were lined with _golden _thread, the colors of royalty. This was a stark change compared to the simple clothes he had been used to all his life.

He studied the robe as the creature chattered on, his mind lost now once he had seen the overlay of the shirt he was supposed to wear under the robe. A blue, coiling dragon, exactly the same shape as his insignia, the horn, the wings, the calligraphic-styled stroke. How the Empress had known was beyond him.

He slipped the habit over his shoulders and stepped out of his pants, pulling the robe over his head in quiet resignation. Then he shrugged off his sandals and pulled the matching maroon boots over his feet, tucking matching gloves into his belt. He studied his reflection and was surprised to see how regal it made him look, though he had never donned such a bright color before. So much more dignified. It was far heavier than what he had always worn, and while it was a perfect fit and _very_ comfortable, he was still unwilling to accept such generosity.

Suddenly he was seized with the urge to chuckle. The Freud from so long ago would have raged to imagine that he would be getting into a robe - a _dress!_- later on in his life.

When he stepped out of the changing room the bubbly female creature swooned outright and made him more embarrassed than he already was. When she recovered her breath she handed him a heavy golden staff and Freud balked less at the weight than at the way it pulsed with tremendous power. 'This is courtesy of one of Empress Aria's blacksmiths, famous for crafting legendary weapons. Though the stone was left unfitted -' she gestured at the empty space in the middle - 'because it would amplify your magic ten times over if you forged the final stone with your dragon's fire instead.'

With sincere thanks and a hidden desperation to escape her fussing, Freud rejoined the knight Kiriku and climbed the flights of stairs. Everything was so royal. He couldn't take one step on the thick red carpet without feeling that he was soiling it somehow. He walked down endless corridors and vast archways, passing by the armour of knights who had served gallantly the Empress and all her predecessors. Finally they came to a set of marble doors, so big that he was sure Afrien wouldn't have trouble fitting through them. It was here that Kiriku bowed and left him.

He hadn't the slightest clue what to expect. He'd never seen Empress Aria face to face, nor had any experience leading a rebellion... but he remembered how the Abbot had placed faith in him to negotiate an alliance with the Onyx dragons, and even that memory from what seemed like decades ago lent him the strength he needed.

Freud walked bravely up to the doors and struggled against them. They were heavier than they looked and he only managed to open one of them wide enough to slip sideways into the room. So much for a dignified entrance, he thought sourly, before he looked up.

This conference room put the guildhouse at Orbis to shame. It was far grander, the sides of the room lined with knights who stood at rapt attention. Afrien was in the room, but nobody seemed to pay him any second thoughts. It might as well be that he was invisible, the way all the other leaders masked their surprise in seeing such a huge dragon in the room with them.

_You look grand, Master,_grinned Afrien. _No longer like a little boy._

Freud shot him a look.

In the very middle of the room was a round conference table, some of the chairs already occupied. And Empress Aria sat at the head, the epitome of royalty.

'Welcome, dragon master,' she gestured. 'Please take your seat.'

He walked over to the chair she had indicated, feeling strangely exposed in the presence of such esteemed leaders. He saw the dark, tanned female warrior from Rien and the huge polearm she carried, propped up against her chair. Beside her was a snowy magician decked in an ornate robe of white and gold, the representative of the Light Mage of Aurora, whose steely gaze he met calmly and without fear.

'I was right about meeting again, scholar Freud,' smiled Mercedes, who sat poised at the edge of her chair beside him, no longer a mere princess but the Elven Queen. She was even more beautiful now, her grace suddenly emphasized even in the way she talked, so much that Freud again saw in her the wise and just ruler that she had to be. He remembered to nod in reply and turned to the Empress as she began to speak.

'We have been gathered today to discuss the situation in Leafre,' she began, her voice carrying clearly over the silence. Afrien didn't so much as twitch though Freud knew that his interest had been perked. '... And it was a great tragedy that befell the world that day, with the loss of so many lives...'

He felt Afrien's pain as the Empress summed up the number of fatalities, which were far lesser in number but felt much greater on the ground. His heart ached especially when the Empress mentioned the passing of Mu Lung's abbot.

'... Which is why I have called this young man here to join our ranks today,' the Empress concluded suddenly. Freud was startled with the cue for him to introduce himself. He hesitated a second too long for his liking before he stood up as calmly as he could.

For a brief moment he was back again in the Orbis conference room, with all eyes on him for advice. Freud the scholar, second only to the Abbot by his side. But this time, he was in the grandest conference room in Ereve, armed with perhaps the world's strangest magic, with the greatest of the Onyx dragons for companionship.

He was Freud, the dragon master, called to fight against the darkness.

'My name is Freud,' he said, the weight of every word exactly as he intended it to be, so there would be no room for doubt of his strength. 'I have created the world's first Spirit Pact with the King of the Onyx Dragons, Afrien.

'We have seen too much evil and too much death since the Black Mage's reign. He has taken too much from our lands, and we will not stand for it. Together, we fight for every man who cannot defend himself, for the oppressed and the fearful.

'Afrien fights to avenge his people, a race who loved him as a father and as a ruler, that they would not have sacrificed in vain. He fights in the name of loyalty, for truth and justice, alongside me.

'I fight because I have come to love our world, and everything in it. I have been shown love when I least deserved it, and seen the miracles it can do to a languishing people. That's all there is to it.

'I fight in the name of love.'


End file.
